Lady of the Sea
by Aerus
Summary: How the horselord first met the mermaid.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Lady of the Sea

**Genre: **Romance

**Rating: **M (mild)

**Pairing: **Éomer/Lothíriel

**Disclaimer: **The Lord of The Rings and everything concerning it belongs to J. R. R. Tolkien. I own nothing and make no financial profit by writing this.

**Summary: **How the horselord first met the mermaid. Oneshot.

**Author****'****s ****Note: **It appears that Éomer, Lothíriel and Lord of the Rings on the whole are making an assault back in to my mind. Here's something born out of too much coffee, not having anything exciting to do, and watching too many Éomer videos on Youtube.

* * *

The palace of Dol Amroth was quiet still when Éomer King of Rohan sneaked out early in the morning. In fact, it was much too early for anyone with common sense to be up and about, but he was still finding it more than just a little difficult to sleep restfully. It had been almost a year since the war had ended and the restoration of his kingdom was going much better than he had expected, but Éomer, the new Lord of the Mark, was not moving forwards.

He'd have been foolish not to know that was exactly the reason Éowyn had proposed this little journey in the first place. His sister knew him well – in truth, he often felt she knew him better than he did himself, even when she was far away. She had probably known how the walls of Meduseld felt like falling over him, and how the faces of those who would not return seemed to haunt the corridors of once so loved home.

Likely because of this, she had asked her to come and visit her and Faramir in Ithilien. As Éomer had rather missed his sister, he had eagerly accepted the invitation and ridden to meet them. Of course he should have been smart enough to see through it right away, but when Faramir had first suggested that the young king might also want to see his friends who lived down in Dol Amroth, he had agreed it was a good idea. Imrahil and his family did have a special place in his heart, after all, and this was in no small part owed to the fact that it had been the Prince who had brought Éomer's beloved sister to the House of Healing. So, after spending a week with the happily wed couple, he had again jumped into saddle and sped south to enjoy the famed hospitality of Prince Imrahil.

Most of the royal family was in residence, except for Imrahil's heir Elphir, who was currently in Minas Tirith, and the Prince's daughter and youngest child whose name the King of Rohan couldn't remember at the moment. Éomer vaguely recalled Éowyn speaking well of the young woman, who was only couple years younger than his sister. The princess was apparently visiting some family in Lossarnarch but would return in a day or two.

Amrothos had shown him the passage down to the beach, and that was the way Éomer used now as he exited the palace. On his way, he met no other soul and he was actually thankful for this chance for solitude. Ever since he had become the King, it appeared that being alone was something that occurred only very rarely. It was refreshing to listen to just only his own thoughts, the waves rolling to the shore, the calls of seagulls...

It was a beautiful place, he supposed: the rocks on which the palace had been built, the white sand that he'd likely keep finding from his clothes weeks after his visit, the rise and fall of the sea... But in the sea, no matter how beautiful, there was also treacherousness and danger. Princes Erchirion and Amrothos had spoken of a boat trip, but he was wondering if he could somehow refuse that offer; he didn't feel too comfortable thinking of all that ever-moving water just under his feet.

He had walked for some time lost in his thoughts and when he looked around again, he noticed he had ventured further away than ever before on his morning strolls. Heavy rain clouds were covering the horizon, hiding the sun that was only just rising up towards its zenith. Imrahil had spoken of how rain could so quickly appear here: you saw the sky getting cloudier, and five minutes after that, it was pouring with rain.

Éomer didn't mind bit of rain, as he was rather used to being outdoors in all kinds of weathers, but he decided to turn back nevertheless. Perhaps his host would be getting up soon and they could get some actual business done; he had hoped they might negotiate about establishing some trading relationship between the cities Edoras and Dol Amroth...

That was what Éomer was thinking of when he saw _her _for the first time and truth be told, all thoughts of economy and trading were quickly forgotten. And no wonder, for as she rose up from the waves, it was like the Sea Goddess herself had come to grace this white shore. A thin wet gown clung to her shapely form, and water had _almost _made it see-through – a fact that instantly brought him considerable discomfort. The gown, its colour that of pale blue, bared her shoulders and their creamy white skin that absolutely begged to be touched and caressed. Her hair was dark, which could have been the trick of water, but he assumed it'd be the same colour as her perfectly arched eyebrows, which were midnight black. The colour of her eyes reminded him of the storm that was currently brewing over the sea, and her full lips were soft shade of pink. Her face was delicate, elegant... And she was so beautiful that suddenly he felt curiously weak.

What really got him, though, was not her overall appearance. It was the compilation of these three facts: 1) there was no other soul on the beach other than the two of them, 2) he was a complete stranger as far this Lady of the Sea was concerned, and 3) the thin wet gown clung to her body so that it was almost like she were naked, and yet her face was not scandalized but rather irritated and challenging. Éomer was a warrior for nothing: he knew the look of challenge for battle when he saw one. Nevertheless, he could not help but just stand there and stare.

"Do you often stand idly by like an imbecile and stare at half-naked people while they're minding their own business?" she asked in a loud, clear voice. Momentarily, Éomer felt taken aback and wasn't sure what to answer. But then he decided he'd be damned if he allowed some indecently clad, rude woman abash him like this.

"Oh, so it is forbidden in Dol Amroth to stand on a beach and be confused by something one didn't expect to see?" he asked back, cocking his head.

"You mean that it is considered proper in your country to gape at a lady who is not presentable?" she inquired, stopping on the shoreline and placing her hands on her hips as if she was a formidable matron scolding an ill-behaving child.

"You made the choice to be unpresentable yourself. It is no fault of mine to have wandered upon your unpresentableness... and in my country, expressions of admiration are usually appreciated rather than scorned upon", he answered. Somewhere in the distance, a soft rumble of thunder sounded, but he barely even noticed. Éomer's attention was completely fixed on this strange, snappy woman.

His words made her lift her eyebrows, but her expression was a mockery of being impressed.

"Oh? Admiration? So you admit that you were admiring the sights that were not meant for your eyes?" she asked.

"If they were not meant for my eyes, then I cannot understand why you are showing them off in such rampant way", he answered. He was enjoying this much more than he should.

"I didn't expect there would be anyone else on the beach so early", she said, and now there was just the faintest hint of displeasure in her voice.

The rain took that moment to start and fall, but it was gentler and warmer than he'd have expected. Éomer hadn't thought rain could be like that, not here by the sea. No doubt he too would be dripping wet in a moment.

"Then perhaps you should have considered that possibility before coming here and ranting at every unfortunate fellow who comes across your near-naked state", he pointed out, crossing his arms on his chest. He felt a brief flash of childish satisfaction when he saw the frustrated look on her face, but then mentally scolded himself for such a petty emotion.

"I've come here for my morning swim for ten years now, and never before have I met anyone wandering about. The blame is hardly mine, dearest horselord", she said and looked at him sternly. "Now, if you would try and use your powers of observation a bit more and concentrate them on something else than my chest – perhaps you could even use them to notice my cloak, which you have decided to step on."

Éomer felt just slightly abashed when he noticed the pale garment by his feet. Well, in his defence, it _was _so pale that someone as lost in thought as he had been might have walked by and made no difference between the garment and the white sand.

The rain was pouring down harder now, making his own clothing cling to his body just as her gown clung to hers. It'd have been so hard to explain this scene to anyone had there been other people witnessing it.

However, they were still alone and he didn't particularly feel like being done with this strange woman. So he just tilted his head and looked at her curiously.

"And what if I won't give you your cloak?" he asked jovially. If he had hoped that would stupefy her, he had been wrong. Rather, she lifted her eyebrows yet again with that unimpressed look on her face.

"Then I'll just have to take it, horselord", she informed him and started to slowly approach him... the King of Rohan was fairly certain she swayed her hips like that just to tease him.

He was not a man who easily gave up his ground, though.

"And how exactly do you plan to do that, mermaid?" he asked. "I am much larger than you are, if you did not happen to notice."

She was on the front of him then, and unfearingly and very boldly she placed her hands on his waist. Her face was most innocent when she spoke: "Let me show you what happens when the unmoving object meets the unstoppable force."

He was probably going to answer something very clever to that, but Éomer never got the chance. As it happened, a small but shapely and surprisingly strong leg swept about his feet, effectively tackling him on the soft, unstable surface of the sand. He lost his footing and fell back, but not before grabbing her with him, and she fell right on the top of him. That knocked out his breath for various reasons actually, and through his now wet shirt and her gown he could feel her body radiating with warmth. He felt desire stirring inside himself and he knew he'd embarrass himself very soon, unless he push her away. But he found he couldn't do that. All he managed was to stare up at her in bewilderment and – he had to admit it – admiration. One did not often encounter women like her.

"Well? Can I have my cloak back?" she asked, and her face was only several inches away from his. Wet strands of her hair tickled his face and Béma, did he suddenly want this strange woman.

"On one condition", he breathed, fighting back the desire to grab those hips and press her closer to his body. If he understood anything at all about women, the glint in her eyes suggested she knew exactly what effect she was having on him.

"And what is that?" she asked softly, leaning down just a little bit. He could feel her breath now, brushing against his face.

"You give me your name, mermaid", he prompted, his voice more than just a little demanding. He could sound very authoritative when he wanted, and usually it worked the way he wanted... but she didn't seem terribly moved by his commanding tone. She smiled and looked at Éomer in a way that almost had him thinking she might kiss him. But she never did, and instead pulled back slightly.

"My name is Lothíriel", she said, her voice light, even cheerful.

"Just Lothíriel?" he asked. He had to know more of her... especially where he'd find her once they both were presentable again.

"Your condition has been met with, horselord", she said and smiled as she rose up. Oh, how cruel a woman could be!

He climbed up on his feet too, and as he rose, he grabbed her cloak. Once he had straightened up, he offered it to her.

"Your cloak, Lothíriel", he said solemnly.

"Thank you", she answered with a smile and draped it around herself. The cloak was wet and speckled with sand, but at least it didn't look like she was naked anymore (though he didn't know if he liked this development). She brushed hair away from her face and gave him yet another bright smile, "It's been a pleasure to talk with you, horselord. Perhaps I will catch you staring at me some time soon."

"Perhaps", he agreed. Éomer wondered if she'd mind very much if he would do that... but then, if that idea was horrid for her, she wouldn't have mentioned it or smiled to him like that?

She curtsied at him and turned away, leaving him stare after her with some serious confusion. It was difficult to believe he had talked to an actual woman and not a mermaid. Her behaviour at least was more fit for the latter.

When there were couple of yards between them, he came back to his senses.

"It's Éomer", he called after her, and she looked over her shoulder at him. Suddenly, her smile that had reminded him of a self-satisfied cat, froze on her face.

"What?" she asked.

"My name is Éomer. In case you ever want to try your unstoppable force against my unmoving object again", he said. Now it was his turn to feel self-satisfaction... obviously, she knew the name.

However, this Lady of the Sea wasn't so easily conquered. She gave him a large smile and winked.

"We'll see about that, Lord of the Mark."

She continued walking and quickly disappeared behind some rocks, leaving behind only the memory of her smile and aching feeling of her thighs straddling his hips. The rain kept falling and Éomer allowed himself a smile – the first real one in a long time.

He would have to find out more about this Lothíriel.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **I know this was supposed to be just an one-shot and nothing more, but due to demands and my sudden burst of creativeness, here comes the second meeting of the horselord and the mermaid.

I won't promise continuation, though. I'm not sure I really have a proper story or plot to continue this any more than I've already done... nor do I really have the time or energy to start working on a full-length story at the moment.

Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy!

* * *

Though she was now long gone, Éomer King of Rohan was still thinking of the mermaid Lothíriel he had encountered on the beach when he entered his chambers.

Well, it was a small wonder that he did. For one, she was probably the first woman (with the exception of his sister) he had actually enjoyed interacting with ever since they had dropped that damned crown on his head. Not that he had something against women in general. Rather, he liked the opposite sex as much as any hot-blooded male.

It was just the context of his usual interactions with women these days that had him at his wits' end.

As soon as Théoden King had been laid to grave and the funeral guests had gone their ways, Éomer's advisers had started it: the unending talk about marriage, the accessible women in the kingdoms of West, and which one would best suit him as a wife.

On a purely theoretical level, he understood it. Should he die now, the throne of the Mark would be left without an heir – unless one of Éowyn's future children could assume the position. But that was years and years from now. And there had not been royal children in the land ever since Théodred had been born... The marriage of the new King and him taking up the urgent task of producing offspring was a reasonable concern.

But how was he supposed to _just marry? _His life had consisted of so much struggle and hardships, and he definitely did not want them to intrude this part of his life. He didn't want just any woman from some distant land and burden his personal life with the difficult task of actually _getting to know her. _Was it so wrong of him to wish for one small thing in his life that he could be happy to call his own?

On the other hand, he was the king now. And like his advisers were happy to remind him, his station often demanded things of him no ordinary man could do. Especially true that was when the matter of his personal happiness was considered. Sometimes being a good ruler demanded sacrifices and all he could do was to try to bear whatever misery it might cause him. That was the place of the king.

Sighing, he tossed away his damp clothes and tried to push away this constant pestering thought of marriage. It also looked like he had brought half of the beach with him, if anything could be deduced from the amount of sand; the chambermaids would no doubt be delighted when they would have to clean up the mess he had made. But then, it wasn't really his fault. He hadn't exactly expected to be... _assaulted. _Yes. _She _had assaulted _him. _And due to her nature, he wasn't even embarrassed to admit that.

When he had changed into some dry clothes and combed the sand from his hair, it was already time for breakfast with Imrahil's family. Time could go by so quickly when one was preoccupied by things like unfathomable Gondorian mermaids.

The day he had arrived in Dol Amroth, the gracious Prince had insisted that he shared the meals with the royal family in their private dining room. This was a great honour of course, being allowed so near his friend's personal life. Éomer had not participated on family meals ever since his parents had died: after that, it had usually been his éored that he dined with. Still, even if it was an honour, at first he had been worried whether he'd know how to act or if there was some etiquette one should follow. But the first dinner with Imrahil and his two sons who were currently in residence proved his fears wrong: the atmosphere had been friendly, warm, and very informal. Quickly the banter between the princes Erchirion and Amrothos made him forget about proper behaviour, and he couldn't help but join Imrahil in laughter as the Prince chuckled and shook his head at his two sons.

Imrahil was already seated at the table as Éomer arrived to the light, airy room that served as the private dining room for the royal family. The furniture was of light wood and tapestries presented the colours of Dol Amroth: silver and blue.

"Good morning, my friend", the Prince called at the sight of the young King of Rohan. "I trust you slept well?"

"Adequately, thank you. This sea air feels most unnatural in my lungs", Éomer answered as he took his seat at the left side of Imrahil.

"Oh, believe me – they often say that the sea air is good for you. I assure you that once you return your kingdom, you'll feel most refreshed and you'll come back riding in no time", the Prince promised. Éomer decided not to point out that there were other things in Dol Amroth to provoke his interest than the climate.

Erchirion was also seated already, but Amrothos only just arrived; the youngest of three princes of Dol Amroth looked like he was only half awake. His hair at the left side of his head stood up which he didn't seem to notice, and he yawned and scratched at the fresh stubble on his chin. Erchirion rolled his eyes at the sight but said nothing.

"Amrothos, have you seen your sister?" Imrahil asked his youngest son.

"Father, I don't think Amrothos would have noticed it even if twelve dwarves had passed by him, playing trumpets as they went", Erchirion remarked from his place at the other end of the table, not lifting his eyes from the book he was reading.

"Erchirion, manners", Imrahil said somewhat absent-mindedly; Éomer had already noticed that it was a phrase that was often repeated in this table. The Prince looked at their Rohirric guest, "My daughter was visiting some family in Lossarnach as of late. She only rode home late last night, after you had retired. I told her we'd have company and that she should not linger this morning, but as you have probably seen, my children seem to have minds of their own..."

Imrahil shook his head, but Éomer could tell that he was still very proud of his offspring.

"My sister spoke well of your daughter", the young king said, though he couldn't really tell what that meant. Éowyn of now seemed in many ways so different, so that sometimes he almost felt like he was speaking with a completely new person.

The Prince smiled at his words.

"Oh, yes, I understand Lady Éowyn and my daughter have become good friends during her visits to Ithilien", he agreed.

"Can't imagine why. Our sister is a wild beast", Amrothos chortled; he had already consumed a cup of tea and it seemed to finally have awoken him.

"Brother! I heard that. You have a lot of gall to call me wild beast when you're hardly any better", came a clear, bright voice. The suddenness of it made Éomer freeze where he sat, for the private dining room of the royal family of Dol Amroth was the last place where he had expected to hear _that voice. _

Yet there she stood, at the door of the room. She was just as much a vision now that she didn't look nearly naked anymore: her pale skin very much agreed with the blues and silvers of her simple but elegant gown. Her hair, damp from her swim and rain, hung all the way to her waist and still looked like a crown... It was her, the mermaid - here of all places!

"There you are, Lothíriel! Didn't I tell you to be early?" Imrahil scolded, but she didn't look like she had heard her father. She was staring at Éomer, looking just as astonished as he felt. She hadn't expected to see him here... just like he had thought her the last person to make an appearance.

_Lothíriel. _Of course the name should have rung a bell in his mind. How many times had Éowyn and Faramir mentioned _the _Princess Lothíriel? He was fairly sure Imrahil had mentioned her name too. And all the while he had been too distracted or just stupid to make the connection.

Both of them must have looked immensely flabbergasted, for the Prince looked curiously from his daughter to Éomer, and the scene appeared to have sparked even the attention of Erchirion and Amrothos.

"Is something wrong, Lothíriel? Éomer?" Imrahil asked. The young King of Rohan tried to think of something to say, but it was her who spoke at first.

"Oh, it's nothing", she said, her voice considerably sweeter than he remembered from the beach. "I was just surprised to see the Lord of the Mark here."

"I did tell you that we had company, daughter. Who did you think would be our guest?" Imrahil wondered out loud, lifting his eyebrows.

"It appears that both myself and the Princess have a taste for morning walks on the beach, Imrahil. I have already made the acquaintance of your daughter", Éomer said, having recovered his voice.

"Ah! I see. Well, at least that saves me the trouble of introductions, then", the Prince said and smiled.

Lothíriel sat down at the table, opposite Éomer; whether it was some meaningful act or just her claiming her usual place, he couldn't tell. Nothing about this woman seemed to be like he'd have thought and he found that he had hard time not staring at her. Remembering how he had talked to her, a royal princess, he felt very embarrassed. He'd have to apologize that for later... at least he thought so until she gave him a small but not so innocent smile.

"I was very unhappy that Lothíriel could not join us in Minas Tirith for the celebrations after the war ended. When myself and my sons rode for war, she was left in charge here in Dol Amroth. You see, my late father Prince Adrahil took pride in providing a very extensive education for all my children... including Lothíriel. She took part in all the lessons that my sons received, except for the battle training. So you could say that when the war broke out, my daughter was the most qualified person in all Dol Amroth to rule in my stead", Imrahil explained. His words surprised Éomer very much: given that she was still unmarried, the princess could not be very old and her manners so far would not have made him think she would be very highly cultivated. Yet apparently her father thought her a most efficient regent and held her in high esteem.

Perhaps his surprise showed on his face, or she _was _a mermaid and so had some unnatural power of reading his thoughts, for she gave him a very pointed look.

"So, my lord, how long are you going to stay here in Dol Amroth?" she asked lightly, but in her storm-grey eyes there was that challenge again. Did this woman never grow weary of testing him?

"It depends, my lady", he said and leant back in his chair. He'd be damned if he'd let her get to him!

"On what, if I may ask?" she inquired, watching him ever as she sipped her tea.

"On how long I feel I am welcomed here... and what prospects I find in your fair city", he answered gracefully. It was too seldom that one got the chance of trying one's verbal sword like this, and he was finding he rather liked it.

She looked like she was about to say something; however, Imrahil spoke first.

"You know you're welcome to stay here as long as you wish, my friend. Like you said yourself, the relations between Rohan and Gondor have been too sparse in past years", the Prince commented and offered him a wide smile.

"Indeed. If it depended just on myself, I'd no doubt find myself lingering here endlessly..." Éomer said, casting a quick glance at the princess, "but I fear I must sooner or later return to the Mark, where my duties wait for me not so patiently."

"What prospects do you hope to find here precisely, my lord?" the princess pressed on. And still she would wear that innocent smile of hers, when all the while her eyes would glimmer... What an insufferable woman.

"That remains to be seen", he said, however.

"And I trust you're the most enthusiastic explorer, as one would deduce by our conversation at the beach", she remarked and picked up some bread.

Imrahil didn't seem to notice that anything was going on, and Amrothos was more or less oblivious too, but Erchirion's eyebrows had shot up to make the acquaintance of his hairline. The second-oldest prince appeared to have completely forgotten about his book.

"I do my best, Princess", Éomer said lightly, busying himself with some creamy porridge.

"Sounds like the two of you had very pleasant time on the beach", Imrahil commented.

"Oh, it was very pleasant indeed", Lothíriel said, somehow succeeding to produce a mix of snort and snigger. "Éomer King is every bit a man the stories tell."

He very nearly lost his composure at that, but thankfully Imrahil spoke again.

"I fear we have been exhausting Lothíriel with our stories from Minas Tirith and of your House to no end. And when she escapes us to find some company that is not constantly reminiscing the events of late, she is bombarded with the tales of Gondorian ladies who were present during the aftermath of war", the Prince said. Then he straightened on his seat. "Speaking of our ladies, how is the question of your marriage as of late?"

Éomer very nearly made a completely un-kingly face at his friend, but he was able to hold back that reaction. The last thing he needed was his friends pestering him about that damned matter.

"I haven't really thought much about it", he said reluctantly, "which no doubt brings endless despair to my advisers."

"The unmarried ladies of Gondor will be delighted to hear that, I imagine... Aragorn tells me that half of the daughters of the noblemen have taken up such hobbies as riding, and all the speakers of Rohirric are highly sought after for language lessons", Imrahil said and seemed highly amused by this. Now Éomer could not hold back a grimace.

"How wonderful. The next time I visit Minas Tirith, I just might do it in disguise", he muttered.

"You don't welcome advances from the unmarried women?" Lothíriel asked suddenly, one of her eyebrows lifted in a way that did nothing to hide her thoughts.

"It depends entirely on the nature of advance", he said before he could stop himself. "And so far, I've been impressed only once."

"Only once, my lord?" she asked, evidently having forgotten about her breakfast altogether.

"It's probably true, sister", Amrothos commented lightly. "And you would believe it too if you had seen how some of the ladies chased him in King Elessar's wedding – especially after they started to serve the honeyed wine. But I wonder which one of them was so impressive that even our bold warrior king would acknowledge his admiration."

"Indeed, do tell us, Sire. What does it take to impress the Lord of the Mark?" the princess asked innocently, staring Éomer with wide eyes.

The Prince still did not seem to notice anything, but Erchirion's eyebrows seemed to have permanently relocated in his hairline, and even Amrothos looked confused now.

"Only the lady in question knows that... and believe she is very aware of the effectiveness of her assault", Éomer managed, though it certainly did not sound as sharp as he'd have liked. It looked like this round went for the princess.

"Well, I suppose we must allow you this secrecy... but hopefully we'll hear about this eccentric lady again. Your marital status is, after all, the gossip of the realm", Imrahil said and chuckled.

"Is that so? I'm tempted to ride back to Edoras this moment and propose to the first woman I come across, just so that the gossip will find some more interesting topic", the young King sighed. His friend seemed to sense that a change of topic was necessary, for he leant forward in his chair and composed a look of business on his face.

"I was thinking, my friend", he began, which made Amrothos snigger.

"Oh, that never promises anything good", he said and then yelped; judging by the dirty look Lothíriel gave her brother, she had just kicked him under the table. Imrahil ignored his son, though.

"Now that you're here in Dol Amroth, how would you feel about a banquet in your honour? The word of your presence will spread soon anyway, and the local nobility will come running here in the hopes of getting to introduce themselves to you. So a proper banquet would make it everything easier and smoother for all, and you'd be able to establish connections with the high and mighty in my land", Imrahil proposed.

Éomer quietly considered this suggestion and stared down to his plate of porridge. He wasn't too fond of grand celebrations, and especially he didn't look forward to being introduced to swarms of lords and ladies he wouldn't even remember afterwards... but Imrahil's suggestion wasn't bad one, no matter how he personally felt about banquets. After all, wasn't it his responsibility as the King of Rohan to represent his country and take part in social gatherings such as the one his friend was proposing? Who knew what ways it could benefit his land.

"I suppose it is a good idea", he finally agreed, which made Imrahil smile. He still couldn't suppress a slight grimace, though. "There are going to be many fathers along with their marriageable daughters, correct?"

"Well, you _are _a young unmarried king, after all", the Prince said with a smile. "Don't be so grim, my friend. It can actually be a merry gathering, if you give it a chance. Perhaps your mystery lady will attend too."

Éomer looked at the princess, who sat opposite him; she was watching him in a way he could not really decipher. When he spoke, he knew his face was not as inscrutable.

"I hope that she will."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **What can I say? This story has started to live a life of its own and I can't do anything about it except write. I have no control over my life anymore.

Still, as before, I won't promise quick updates like I've delivered so far. I'm not sure for how much longer this burst of energy and inspiration will last. But I guess I'll try to finish what I've started.

* * *

The rest of the breakfast went in slightly more peaceful manner, as the bold princess focused on talking with Amrothos. Still, when she thought he wasn't watching, Éomer could still catch her glancing at him from the corner of his eye. Obviously things were anything but settled between them. He didn't know if that should have unnerved him.

At least the matter of his marital status or the banquet was not discussed... until at least Erchirion looked at his father, wearing a face that was so identical to the one Lothíriel had worn before that it was almost ridiculous.

"So, Father, were you thinking there might be dancing in that banquet that you were planning?" he asked innocently, and silently Éomer hoped he could have flogged the prince. Banquet was stressful enough, but if he was expected to dance...!

"I'm sure Éomer would prefer a bit more formal-" Imrahil began and the young king felt instant gratitude, but unfortunately the princess was not quite done with the poor Lord of the Mark yet, for she interrupted her father: "Nonsense, everyone would love a proper ball with dancing. It's been such a long time since we had any. I think it would be a good way to introduce His Majesty to our local nobility, and I think everyone could use a bit of festivities in the middle of all the concerns about rebuilding the kingdom."

"Hmm, yes. You are quite correct", the Prince agreed. He looked at Éomer, "Would that suit you, my friend? Or do you even know our dances?"

Éomer was about to answer positively; as much as it had embarrassed him at the time, his uncle had demanded he and Éowyn learn Gondorian court dances too, in case they'd have to represent their country in some state occasions. However, Erchirion was faster than him.

"I'm sure that's not a problem. Maybe Lothíriel could help out? Everyone says she's one of the best dancers in Dol Amroth, after all", the prince said, smiling jovially at his sister; she didn't look so self-satisfied anymore and Éomer made a mental note of having to ask Erchirion how did one beat her so effortlessly.

"Excellent idea, Erchirion", Imrahil said and smiled. He looked at his daughter, "I trust you will be at the service of Éomer King?"

"Of course, Father", she said somewhat demurely. Then she looked at the young king and her eyes became stark once again. "After lunch, Sire, in the gallery?"

"As you wish, my lady", he said lightly, already looking forward to a dancing lesson with the princess. Perhaps Erchirion's suggestion was not bad at all.

Like promised, Éomer met her in the gallery after lunch. His conversations with Imrahil had taken so long that the Prince had proposed they eat in his study, and a light cold lunch had been brought for them. When they had finished, Imrahil had given him the directions to the gallery, and now he was stepping to the large, quiet space. Tall windows with stained glass painted the white floors of stone with numerous colours and on the other side of the room, there was a long line of statues – images deceased princes of Dol Amroth, no doubt.

The gallery was empty still so he walked slowly by the statues, watching the faces of long dead princes. They said that the Prince's family had Númenorean and Elvish blood, and looking at those noble faces, it was easy to believe that. Strangely enough, it made him feel slightly intimidated. After all, even with his royal blood, Éomer was still just a son of a Marshal...

A sound of someone clearing their throat distracted him from his thoughts and he turned around. The princess was standing there, her arms crossed over her chest. She was wearing again that expression he couldn't quite read, but he got the sense that she wasn't too delighted about this whole thing.

"I'm glad to see that at least you understand the importance of punctuality", she commented. Gone were the "my lords" and "Sires", along with the attempts of politeness. To be honest, he rather appreciated her talking to him so bluntly. It was refreshing at least.

"Of course I do. It's not a hard concept to grasp", he said, approaching her slowly, as if too quick movements could somehow provoke her (they probably did).

She scoffed and placed her hands on her hips, looking at him with an evaluating look in her eyes.

"Can you dance at all? Or should I expect much toe-crushing and you stumbling on your feet?" she inquired.

"I am considered a very delightful dance partner in the Mark – which is not a reputation you easily earn in my land", he told her with lifted eyebrows, "but if you insist, I can violate your toes as much as you like."

"Hmph. That better be true or I'm going to flay first you, and then Erchirion for this insane idea", she muttered. "Pay attention. These would be the steps for the most popular dance at the moment – one that you will doubtlessly be asked to dance many times during the ball."

He fixed his eyes her feet and began to imitate her. It wasn't hard at all, and as a matter of fact, he thought it resembled some of the dances his uncle had made him and his sister learn.

"If I remember correctly, you did nothing to suggest your father that a ball would be a bad idea. In fact, to me it looked a lt like you _encouraged _that idea", he pointed out as he took her offered hand and they stepped forward, as if in a line of dancers, "And for your information, no one asks _me _to dance. As the King of the Mark, I happen to have the privilege of choosing my dance partners myself."

"That must be so nice for you", she muttered. "This part, you stand behind me, but try not to rub yourself too much against me, that would be improper on the front of my father – I lift my hands like this, and you grab them... no! Not like that, or are you trying to crush my hands when you can't crush my toes? Gently, Your Majesty, gently."

"Forgive me. How barbaric of me", he said with accentuated politeness. She harrumphed but did not say anything.

It wasn't too difficult, really. He quickly got the hang of it, and it was very easy when following her lead anyway. He hadn't been lying when he had said ladies considered him a delightful dance partner in Rohan. And somehow with the princess it was easy to glide back and forth even when there was no tune to guide them.

"Are all Gondorian dances this boring? Perhaps I should teach you how the Rohirrim dance", he suggested after a moment. His words, however, made her snort.

"If I want dance lessons, I will ask someone who is... who is..." she began, but suddenly fell silent.

"Who is what? Less irresistible?" he asked. After all, he still owed her for the conversation during the breakfast.

"You flatter yourself, Éomer King", she said and sounded unimpressed. Then she stopped and looked up at him with narrowed eyes. "I thought you said you couldn't dance."

He smiled and shrugged.

"I never did, if I may remind you", he answered and bowed at her, like one was supposed to after dancing with someone. Her brow furrowed.

"Why didn't you say anything then? I thought you actually needed to be taught", she wondered and looked rather displeased. Éomer couldn't hold back a grin.

"How could I, when I was presented with a chance not only to catch you alone, but also dance with you?" he inquired jovially.

"You insufferable man!" Lothíriel scoffed and looked very frustrated. "I should have known."

"_I _am insufferable? That is rich, coming from you", he said and gave her his most charming smile, and she made a face at him.

"You can consider _that _the only dance you'll ever get from _me. _But fortunately for you, I don't think you'll be short on dance partners in the ball", she said and lifted her chin. She looked like she was about to stride away like only a princess could, but he quickly stepped in the front of her and blocked her way.

"So you're not even going to grant me one dance?" he asked; he was reluctant to let her go yet.

"No, Your Majesty", she said and her voice was hard, but he was almost sure he saw the familiar spark in her eyes.

"Just one dance?" Éomer pleaded and looked at her with wide, appealing eyes. He had long since learned how effective that look could be. However, he couldn't tell if it had the desired impact on her. She was searching his face, as if she were looking for something. He met her gaze silently and felt curiously open... like he was inviting her to look inside him. Perhaps she did.

"On one condition", she finally said and her face became softer. And Béma, she could be beautiful when she looked like that! He'd probably get himself into trouble, but he was starting to feel like he'd do whatever she asked.

Just for one dance with her.

"And what is that?" he asked; now was Lothíriel's turn to smile.

"I'll dance with you... but only if you wear flowers in your hair in the ball", she said sweetly, pushed past him, and was gone. He looked after her for a long while, and should anyone have come across him then, they would no doubt have found him looking very abashed.

_Damn. _This princess would be the end of him.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **My muse is hyperactive and shows no signs of slowing down. Here's the result: the ball.

Also, thanks for the comments and support!

* * *

He had bathed and polished himself. He had washed his hair and trimmed his beard. He had even placed his more formal clothes so last night that the wrinkles would smooth out.

But now he was dressed in his usual green and gold, his hair was neatly combed, and there was nothing more he could procrastinate with.

Sighing, he turned to look at the bouquet of flowers on his table. He had no idea of what they were called, but they were blue and white – colours that ought to stand out for anyone who knew what the official colours of House of Dol Amroth were. Éothain had picked them for him earlier that day, no doubt thinking his king was about to give them to some Gondorian lady. He had even put them into water to keep them fresh.

Well. This was her condition and he would meet it, and he'd be damned if he cared what anyone might say about it. Éomer knew he had nothing to prove: he had participated all three great battles of the War of the Ring and survived unscathed. No doubt people would deem him mad or at least peculiar, but that might even prove to be an advantageous reputation. And perhaps the unmarried ladies would leave him alone this time, if they thought him odd.

Yes, that would be good. After all, there was only one lady he had any interest in.

One by one, he picked up flowers from the silver vase and started arraying them into his hair. It probably looked ridiculous and Éowyn would laugh so hard at him when she heard, but he tried not to think of those things so much.

He had just finished the task when there was a knock on his chamber's door.

"My lord? It is about time", Éothain called from outside. He was one of those men who were loyal to the point of madness, and Éomer had always known that he could have trusted his second-in-command with his very life. In fact, sometimes he had done exactly that. Few years older than the young king, Éothain sometimes seemed to regard as something like a son.

Éomer took a deep breath and strode to the door. When he opened it and Éothain saw his hair, the captain's look of confusion was so foolish that he couldn't help but chuckle. It was precisely one of those moments when one hoped one could immortalise an expression.

"Don't ask", he said before Éothain could speak.

"I certainly did not think _that _was why you asked for those flowers", the captain commented after regaining his composure.

"Éothain, if you had thought that, I'd be very worried of you", Éomer said. It was so ridiculous he couldn't suppress a grin. "Let's just say that there's this woman."

"Ah. Now I understand", Éothain said and smiled. He was old enough to have seen younger men do quite a few foolish things in the hopes of impressing their lady loves, so this was nothing new – nor was it the strangest feat he had seen done in the name of romance.

They started for the great hall where the ball would take place. Couple of servants passed them by on their way and gave some confused looks at the King of Rohan's chosen hair decorations, but Éomer pretended he didn't notice their glances. As a matter of fact, he was feeling more and more light by the moment. Who would have thought that wearing flowers would be such a liberating thing?

When they were in the small antechamber and waiting for the herald to announce him, Éothain grinned at his king.

"I must say, you look lovely tonight", he said.

"I always do, my friend", Éomer commented nonchalantly. "Perhaps I should have asked you to weave me a flower garland."

"That I would have done gladly, but I'm not sure if the Gondorian society is quite ready for that level of loveliness", Éothain sniggered.

Their jest was interrupted then, as the voice of the herald announced: "His Majesty, King Éomer of Rohan!"

The two men exchanged a quick grin, and then the Lord of the Mark stepped out in the open.

A multitude of faces was looking up to the top of great staircase, where he was standing. A quick glance about indicated that green was in vogue, which probably wasn't so surprising; luckily, he'd blend in at least somewhat. It looked like Imrahil had invited all the nobility in the land, if anything could be deduced from the size of the crowd.

The Prince himself stood at the other end of the hall, surrounded by his family. Éomer spotted them as he began making his way down the stairs, and his eyes quickly found _her. _Lothíriel was a vision of course, but he had not expected anything less. Her dress was entirely silver, with dark blue belt and embroideries about her sleeves. He'd rather have liked to stare at her a bit more, but decided that was not a good idea unless he wanted to stumble in stairs. So he fixed his eyes on the back wall and summoned an aura of regal dignity.

He could have possessed the grace and splendour of all the Kings of Númenor combined but that would still not have changed the fact that there were flowers in his hair. So, like he had expected, there were wondering gazes, whispering and even some thinly-veiled smiles of amusement. At least no one laughed openly. Éomer pretended he noticed nothing, however; perhaps, if he acted completely natural, he might even start a new fashion.

Finally, he reached the end of the hall, where the royal family was standing. To his great pleasure, Lothíriel actually looked surprised and he couldn't help but look at her with a smug little smile on his face. Yes, this all was definitely worth it, now that she was giving him that look. Amrothos was apparently trying hard not to snigger, and Erchirion looked a bit like someone surrounded by madmen. As for Imrahil, the Prince's eyebrows shot up when he noticed the flowers.

"Evening, Imrahil", Éomer greeted the older man lightly.

"Oh, there you are, my friend..." the Prince said; his expression implied he was trying hard to come up with something to say that did not involve flowers.

"Yes. Quite a crowd you have gathered here. I didn't expect such a large ball", Éomer commented.

"I fear my hands were tied on that matter. You know, the nobility here in Gondor can be terribly sensitive... and they'd probably have come anyway, even without an invitation. It's not every day you visit our city, after all", Imrahil said, his eyes travelling up to regard the blue and white flowers that adorned the young king's hair. Finally, the Prince couldn't help but ask: "I beg your pardon, but why do you have those in your hair?"

"Don't worry – I haven't lost my mind and you don't need to contact Aragorn for help. I just made a deal of sorts", Éomer answered and offered his friend a smile. Imrahil looked confused at first, but then the light of understanding lit up his eyes.

"It's that mysterious lady of yours, correct?" the Prince asked.

"Indeed", the young king answered and sighed dramatically. "She's a bit difficult woman."

"Aren't the best ones always difficult?" Imrahil chuckled. He looked at Éomer in amusement, "You had me already thinking that perhaps all this sea air was not so good for you."

"Quite the opposite, I must say. I am finding I rather enjoy it after all", Éomer said, and it was all he could do not to glance at the princess.

"That is good to hear", the Prince said. Then he turned to look at one of the lordly looking men who stood closest to the royal family, "Come and meet Lord Fairion, one of my oldest friends."

After that, things rolled smoothly into introductions and re-introductions, as some of the lords Éomer had already met during the war or the celebrations that had followed. Actually, it was rather amusing to observe people's faces when they noticed the state of his hair – especially faces of those who had met him before and had considered him just as sane as any man.

Even more delighted he was at some of the doubtful looks he received from certain ladies... no doubt they were asking themselves very gravely if they really wanted a man who wore flowers in his hair. However, there were always those who didn't mind what they perceived as eccentric; apparently that was a forgivable trait in a king.

It wasn't completely unpleasant, though. He met some brothers in arms he had fought with in the War of the Ring and even befriended during his time in Minas Tirith, and though there was not really time for longer conversations, it was good to at least see they were faring well. Then there were the more awkward introductions, like with that one lady who wouldn't stop trying to impress him with her very basic Rohirric, not even after he told her he'd rather use Westron.

"And here's Lord Aradol and his daughter Lady Glosswen, who hail from Lebennin", Imrahil introduced yet another pair of father and daughter, both of whom belonged to the green-wearing segment of the guests. The lord in question was so much shorter than the King of Rohan that the top of his head would barely have reached Éomer's shoulder, and the man's daughter was even tinier. They both had auburn hair that picked up warm shades of red in candle-light (which went well with the green of their clothing), and the girl's eyes were very blue. Éomer supposed the she was pretty in a "fold me and place me in your pocket" kind of way. While Lord Aradol was busy trying to look like he wasn't attempting to catch a sight of Lord of the Mark's chosen head adornments (Éomer suspected the man wouldn't have even noticed them himself), Lady Glosswen was giving him a most charming smile.

"I am pleased to meet you", Éomer said for what seemed to be the hundredth time that night. Oddly enough, his voice didn't sound completely false yet.

"Likewise, Your Majesty", Lady Glosswen answered; her father was still peering up towards Éomer's head. The girl had pleasant voice and she certainly knew how to come across charming.

"Éomer King", Lord Aradol finally spoke and bowed, "we met in Minas Tirith, during King Elessar's wedding."

"Ah, yes. I am sad to admit that I did not recognize you at first. Those days in Minas Tirith were something of an uproar", the young king said. Well, that much was true.

"Oh, that is quite understandable, my lord", she commented gravely, but then offered him a brilliant smile, "How are you finding Dol Amroth, Your Majesty?"

"Very pleasant. Prince Imrahil is most hospitable host and his family welcoming. I must say, time flies by when one stays in this city", Éomer answered and cast a quick look about; the Princess of Dol Amroth was currently chatting with a circle of young people of about her age, and he felt a strange pang of jealousy when he noticed a young man (a lord from Lossarnarch, whose father had died in war) kissing her hand. But he quickly focused his attention on the Lord Aradol and his daughter. It wouldn't do to come across as absent-minded.

"You flatter me, Éomer King", Imrahil said and smiled. "You know that friends and brothers in arms are always welcome here in my home."

"Yes, the House of Dol Amroth is quite known for its hospitality and geniality", Lord Aradol put in.

"And you would be just as welcome in any noble house of Gondor. The great valour and bravery of Rohan is well-remembered among us", Lady Glosswen said and smiled. Perhaps he just imagined it, but he thought there was something eager about her expression.

"I am glad to hear that our friendship is remembered here", Éomer answered. He wasn't sure where this conversation was going, so he was happy to hear the court musicians adjusting their instruments. He was getting weary of all these pleasantries. Not that he'd have expected it, but the prospect of dance suddenly seemed like a good idea.

The musicians started with a light tune, and Imrahil smiled.

"I believe it is my duty as the host to open the dance... I'll go and see if my daughter would like to join me. Why don't you find yourself a partner too, my lord?" he said to Éomer, who muttered something in agreement.

Lady Glosswen looked at the young king and now she definitely did look eager.

"Might you need help in finding a dance partner?" she asked in a bright voice that was much larger than her body and he refrained from commenting how much he did _not _need help. His mouth ran away with him:

"Would you accompany me, Lady Glosswen?" he asked, which made her beam.

"Of coure, Your Majesty", she said cheerfully, and he offered her his arm. She quickly claimed it and followed him to the centre area of the great hall, where Imrahil already waited with Lothíriel by his side. Éomer thought he caught the princess lifting her eyebrows just slightly, but he could have imagined that. However, he did not miss the look of pride on his partner's face. Apparently one didn't get to open the great ball with the King of Rohan every day... even if he had strange ideas of what to wear in his hair.

The dance was the same one Lothíriel had taught him the other day. It wasn't too exciting or complicated, so he found his thoughts mostly idle as he followed through the steps and movements. He had to constantly mind his partner, though; she was so tiny when compared to him that it almost felt like dancing with a child. Perhaps that was a bit unfair thought, because she was actually a very good dancer.

Lady Glosswen tried to start up a conversation on Rohirric culture, but he was finding it hard to follow her as his eyes were constantly drawn towards the woman dressed in silver. Fortunately the song ended and he could excuse himself (he didn't miss the girl's look of disappointment and he made a mental note of having to make up for it later). He began making his way towards Lothíriel – it took two more dances before he could pass through the crowd to her – for he had yet to speak with her tonight. And honestly, conversing with her seemed a lot more appealing than with any other lady in the hall.

The princess was currently speaking with two other women who looked like they could be about her age. All three fell silent when he stepped on the front of them, and only Lothíriel looked not so surprised at the sight of him.

"Éomer King", she greeted and curtsied. "Have you already met ladies Broniorwen and Nethiel?"

"I have had the pleasure, yes", he said and quickly bowed his head towards the two women, but then he concentrated his eyes on the princess. "I was rather hoping I might exchange a couple of words with you, my lady."

"Of course", she said graciously, which surprised him; he'd have thought she'd throw some sarcastic comments at him and perhaps try to embarrass him on the front of her friends. Perhaps she had drunk wine and was on a better mood tonight? Be it as may, he was more than willing to enjoy the occasion of her good humour.

Spontaneously, he reached for his hair and found one of the flowers. He picked it up – it was one of the white ones – and offered it to the Princess. Finally, some use for the damned things.

"Might I ask you for a dance?" he inquired softly. He half expected her to give him a mocking smile and perhaps laugh that he'd actually do this, but instead, her face had that soft look again that had made him so weak before. As she took the flower, she smiled and put it in her own hair.

"Gladly, Sire", she answered and placed her hand on his arm.

He could barely comprehend that she'd actually be so sweet with him, but he quickly recovered: who knew how long this mood would last?

They joined the dancers and he felt curiously light as he looked at her. Lothíriel looked serene and radiant for once, like the moon gliding in the dark gardens of stars, outshining everything in her path. He wondered if she had any idea of how beautiful she was to him... and suspected that she didn't. A strange ache was starting to fill his heart as he looked at her and he wasn't sure what it meant.

On the beach, he had wanted her purely for carnal reasons. But now... a desire more profound was starting to take its place.

"You know, Sire, I didn't really expect you to fulfil my request. Though I must say that those flowers become you most beautifully", she commented after a moment of silence. Probably it was a good thing that she did speak, for it distracted him from staring at her, and he was under the impression that mindless ogling wasn't considered proper behaviour.

"You actually thought I wouldn't go through with it?" he asked in amusement. She shrugged.

"Most men seem pretty self-conscious when it comes to something like that. It's like you think that your... _manliness _will suffer, or something", Lothíriel said.

"Darling princess, I fought in the War of the Ring and survived. I don't think some flowers will damage my _manliness", _he said lightly, chuckling at the idea.

"Hmm. Clearly I should have asked for something else", she muttered. Then she smiled and sniggered.

"What is so funny, if I may ask?" he inquired.

"I was just imagining you dressed all in pink. It is a very entertaining thing to picture", Lothíriel said and gave him a look that just about made him believe it would be the next thing she'd make him do.

"You wouldn't do that to me", he breathed, pretending shock.

"It is rather cruel, yes. I will have to think of something else", she decided and he twirled her around; her hands in his were small and soft and warm, and letting go of her felt somehow wrong.

"So you plan on making me completely humiliate myself in order to have your good will and attention?" he asked, and as he spoke, an ill feeling gradually started to fill him. Éomer wasn't sure how he felt about that... perhaps he should go after ladies who wouldn't make his life so difficult. After all, wasn't it ease he sought in this part of his life?

But then, it was _her. _And she was special.

"I am considering it, yes. It'd be interesting to see how far you're willing to go", she said and gave him a bright smile.

At that, he stopped and he pulled her towards himself, so that there were only several inches between them. People were still dancing about them and some were giving them very odd stares, but Éomer didn't notice.

"That is all this is to you, then? Make the poor little king run about madly with flowers in his hair just because you can?" he asked her, his voice harder than he had intended. But the realisation was a healthy one. After all, so far she had given no indication that she actually _enjoyed _his attention. Suddenly, he realized something: if he continued this, he'd only ever succeed in making a fool of himself.

Lothíriel looked surprised. She beheld him and for once, it didn't seem like she knew what to say. He stared back unrelentingly, wanting to get to the bottom of this for once and all.

"I..." she began, her voice failing her, "It's not like that."

"Then tell me what it is, for I am finding it very hard to understand", he demanded.

He never got his answer, though; Erchirion had arrived, apparently having sensed that the interaction between his sister and the Lord of the Mark had gotten a little too intense.

"Is everything all right here?" the prince asked. That more or less awakened Éomer and he took a step back.

"Everything is fine. I was just sadly mistaken about something", he said before Lothíriel could speak, and as the two siblings stood staring at him, he turned around and strode away.

He only stopped when he had walked out of the great hall, to the stone terrace that looked over a lush garden. The air there was heavy with the scent of sea mixed with the smell of flowers, and it was probably a very beautiful place. He hardly noticed, though, for he was too busy being angry at himself.

Of course he should have realized it from the beginning. The princess did not like him and had he not understood that before, she'd have done exactly what he had thought she would do: humiliate him until he finally got the truth through his thick skull. What a fool he was...

Sighing, he rubbed his forehead and wondered if it would be too impolite of him to ride home tomorrow. Then again, if he departed right after a grand ball like this, it'd probably look like he had somehow been insulted. There was no way he could bring that kind of humiliation to Imrahil. No, he'd have to pretend all was well, and then maybe after a week he'd go home.

And once there, he'd take up the matter of his marriage. He'd find some agreeable Rohirric woman and forget about his childish hopes for personal happiness.

Éomer had about gotten back his resolve when a voice distracted him: "My lord!"

He turned around and saw one of the ladies there, and after a moment he remembered she was the one who had insisted on speaking Rohirric.

"Yes, my lady?" he asked somewhat wearily.

"May I ask something, my lord?" she inquired, looking a lot like someone who had enjoyed too much wine.

"You may, my lady", he answered, not even trying to hide the suffering tone from his voice.

"Why do you wear flowers in your hair?" she wanted to know, which almost had Éomer snorting.

"A Rohirric custom. It's hard to explain", he grunted with little grace.

_Indeed. A custom for foolish m__en__ who don't know better. _


	5. Chapter 5

It took a long moment for the King of Rohan to get his emotions under control again. The fresh air of evening helped somewhat, and once he got back inside, he felt calmer – though not even slightly less disappointed. Still, he tried to tell himself that he was being foolish, letting _her_ get to him like this...

He had momentarily considered picking out the flowers from his hair, but as he had taken off one blue flower and crushed it inside his palm, he had decided to let it go. He had chosen to act like a fool, and so he'd be the fool until the very end.

Once inside, he grabbed a glass of wine from one servant and emptied it in one mighty swig. Éowyn had sometimes told him that drinking had never solved anyone's problems but at least for the moment it seemed like a very good idea. After all, those times when he had pillaged some ale from the kitchens of Meduseld for himself and Éothain when the two of them had felt the shadows closing in, at least everything had seemed a bit more bearable for a moment.

As soon as Éomer was done with his glass, couple of lords approached him; he didn't know them but apparently they knew him very well. Listening to them, it quickly became clear they were hoping to establish some business in Edoras and were trying to get him grant them monopoly on some goods, but due to his very poor concentration on their words he didn't even take note of what it was they wanted monopoly over. His eyes were already making rounds about the crowd and soon he spotted _her. _She was talking with Erchirion, and it was looking pretty heated as if they were arguing about something. There was even a frown on her face... an uncomfortable feel came to him: was he to be blamed for that look?

If so, he needed more wine. Preferably now.

"Éomer King? What do you think of this plan?" the voice of the shorter of two men brought him back. He blinked and then gave the two one of his more intense stares.

"I will have to think about it", he announced and decided he needed more wine. "If you will excuse me."

He did not stop to listen whether they _did _excuse him, but pushed by and searched for anything that resembled wine. Thankfully it was moderately easy for him to spot things like that, what with his uncommon height.

It was a couple of glasses later than he finally felt a little less bitter, and he was thinking on getting the third when Éothain appeared as if from nowhere

"There you are, finally! I lost you after the second dance. Where have you been?" the captain asked.

"Doesn't matter", Éomer muttered and looked past the older man. There! A servant was serving drinks, and there was even something that resembled mead... But Éothain, who apparently was related to hawks, noticed.

"Have you been drinking, Éomer?" he asked suspiciously. "Oh, yes you have. I know that look. Don't you think it's time to slow down?"

"What are you, my mother?" the young king groaned and considered telling Éothain to go away and leave him alone. However, the captain did not seem too impressed.

"My lord, if I may remind you, we are in the middle of a very grand ball hosted by your good friend Imrahil. Surely you're not going to embarrass him in his own home by acting like some village drunkard? This is not Rohan where you can drink yourself silly at a ball and no one will think of it twice. So would you please get a hang of yourself and concentrate on something else than whatever it is that has you acting like this?" he said quietly, but his voice was dead serious, even stern.

"I was right. You _are _my mother", Éomer sighed. But Éothain was right. He _was _acting stupid. "Forgive me."

"Yes, that is what I am every now and then, because just when I think you may have finally grown up, you prove yet again that you're still 12 years old", the captain said, but now there was something like amusement in his eyes.

"You'll pay for that comment later", the young king told his second-in-command, which made the older man grin.

"Oh, I know", he said and smiled. "Go ahead and dance with the ladies. They look like you've been neglecting them anyway."

Éothain's advice wasn't probably so bad, though Éomer wasn't certain he really was in dancing mood. Still, he pushed those thoughts to the background, along with what displeasure he had felt. He randomly stopped on the front of one young woman whose name he could no longer remember and asked her for a dance. She seemed very delighted by the offer and eagerly followed him to the dance floor. After that, it was Lady Glosswen's turn again, as he had thought that maybe he'd have to make up for his poor behaviour of before.

Indeed, when you got over the fact that she was so small, she was a good dancer and not a bad conversationalist either. It was rather effortless with her, and quickly he noticed he had danced with her no less than three dances. By the end of the third one, she was looking so radiant that one might expect her to burst with delight.

"Come, my lord! Have you met aunt and cousins yet?" she asked as she practically swept him off from the dance floor – a remarkable feat for someone who was about half his size. But he allowed her to guide her to three women who had been standing near and observing the dancers. They all had similar blue eyes as Lady Glosswen herself, but their hair was more black than brown like hers. Éomer thought here was something similar about all four women's noses – a family trait no doubt. The oldest of them was obviously Glosswen's aunt, and on her both sides stood two young women. The older of the two was dressed in black, from which Éomer guessed she had been married and lost her husband lately, and the younger one could not be much older than 13 or 14.

"Aunt, cousins, this is King Éomer of Rohan", Lady Glosswen introduced him, though he was fairly sure he had met the women earlier (he vaguely remembered Imrahil saying that the woman was some distant cousin).

"Ladies", he greeted the women and bowed his head, which they answered with graceful curtseys. A bit of small talk followed that went about along the same lines as most of his conversations tonight: how he found Dol Amroth, how long he was going to stay, what plans he had and so on. It was somewhat tedious, and Éomer thought he saw the same thought in Lady Glosswen's aunt's eyes. The woman had a face that suggested she didn't smile much, but when he commented on "the poisonous sea air", it seemed to him that the corners of her mouth were briefly lifted.

"Your Majesty, is it true that you gave Princess Lothíriel a flower from your hair?" the younger cousin finally asked and looked like it was a question she had held inside herself ever since Glosswen had brought him to meet her aunt and cousins but couldn't possibly keep it any longer; her older sister instantly gave the girl a displeased look.

"That is indeed true", Éomer said and lifted his eyebrows.

"Then why don't Your Majesty give one to our cousin?" the girl pressed on and her eyes sparkled with excitement.

"Sarniel!" her mother exclaimed, but Éomer lifted his hand.

"It is quite all right, my lady. But to answer your question, lady Sarniel, I fear it is a Rohirric custom you only give one flower from your hair", he said gracefully, though he felt it might be a good time for him to make his exit before the story about King of Rohan's flowers got any larger.

Fortunately, Erchirion chose that moment to arrive to the scene. He nodded briefly to the women and then looked at the young king.

"Could I perhaps have a word with you, my lord?" the prince asked. Éomer excused himself (the look of disappointment on Lady Glosswen's face didn't escape him) and followed Erchirion. The prince lead him outside, where it was mostly peaceful, except for few couples admiring the sights over the garden (or pretending to do that, when it was actually each other they admired).

"What is it?" Éomer asked once Erchirion had stopped by the railing at the edge of terrace.

"Do tell me, what did you and Lothíriel speak of? Did you say something to upset her? She wouldn't talk to me and when I wouldn't leave it, she actually left the ball", the prince said in low voice; the hardness of it wasn't lost to the King of Rohan. As he was an older brother himself, he could very well understand Erchirion's reaction... and it troubled him that the princess was unhappy. Had he been too rough with her?

"I... nothing of import. At least nothing that should have upset her enough to make her leave", he said quietly. It was true, wasn't it?

Erchirion watched him very sharply, as if trying to read his mind. Éomer had met all three of Imrahil's sons and he held the notion that the second-born prince was probably most acute of them.

"Be honest with me. What are your intentions towards her to begin with? If you mean her ill-" the prince began, but Éomer disrupted him by lifting his hands in a gesture that he hoped was soothing.

"Have no fear, Erchirion. I have no intentions towards her. I respect your sister just as I respect you, and I don't wish to cause her any unhappiness. You know that I am a friend of your family", he said calmly. Fortunately, his words seemed to convince the prince and hopefully there would not be any bloody confrontations to defend the princess' honour.

Erchirion's face relaxed and he patted the young king's shoulder.

"I am glad to hear that. I already feared that I might have to trash you for her", he said and grinned. Éomer chuckled.

"I wonder, who would trash and whom?" he said, rolling his eyes. "But truth be told, who'd dare to treat her ill with brothers as fierce as you three?"

"Indeed, my good king", Erchirion laughed. Then he looked at Éomer with a bit more serious face, "Sorry to have doubted you. Lothíriel's just... well, she's our little sister. We may be a bit peculiar family sometimes, but we defend our own."

"She's lucky to have such brothers", the Lord of the Mark said softly. Erchirion smiled at first, but again his expression turned more grave as he looked at the Rohir.

"Is everything all right, my friend?" the prince asked.

"How so?" Éomer asked back.

"I don't know. You look tired... even more than you did during the war. Is there something bothering you?" the prince asked and sounded worried.

"I suppose I _am _tired... this king business is far more difficult than I'd have expected. And just being there at the ball... it's like they're all waiting to sink their claws in me. It's very exhausting", the young king sighed, looking down into the garden. Erchirion briefly rested his hand on Éomer's shoulder.

"Father wasn't really thinking when he suggested this whole ball thing", the prince said softly, "and nor did _I _think when I started talking about dancing. I'm sorry. I didn't really understand."

"Oh, it's fine. It's just that I never expected this to happen to me. It was always Théodred's burden to bear. And then he and my uncle died, and this whole thing was dropped on me... I'm still just trying to get used to it all... especially the part about everyone looking up to _me _to make things all right. It's not so easy a lot of times", Éomer explained and looked at his friend. Erchirion was wearing a compassionate face.

"Would you like to sneak away perhaps? Go and have some rest? I'll cover for you and come up with something", he offered. That sounded very tempting, though Éomer thought he should probably get back inside... but then, what did it hurt? Perhaps he could just go out for a bit and return after a moment of just being alone.

"That would be nice, yes", he agreed after contemplating it for a moment. Then he looked doubtfully at his friend, "What of your father?"

Erchirion grinned at that.

"Don't worry about him. I know how to handle the old man. You just go ahead and catch a little air. Maybe you should go down to the beach? It's really pretty down there, now that it's almost full moon and the skies are so clear", the prince offered. That was a suggestion Éomer gladly agreed on, and once his friend had given him directions for a discreet path down to the beach, he went on his way.

* * *

**A/N: **No Lothíriel in this one, but perhaps that will be redeemed in the next update... you never know what can happen on a beach, after all. Also I felt that bit of bonding with Erchirion might be in order, especially after he so discreetly arranged dancing lessons for Éomer before.

* * *

**BlueNynaeve - **I fear wooing must wait, at least for now... As for him losing his confidence, I'd say it's not easy to keep that up without being a douchebag when you feel that the other party doesn't really appreciate your attitude. But we'll see more about that later. :)

**Talia119 - **Éothain might even find that a good joke, so perhaps there'll be more flowers in Éomer's immediate future. :D


	6. Chapter 6

The night's celebration had left with him a foul mood and a pounding headache. However, he was rather happy about Erchirion's little intrusion. All the socializing and his unfortunate confrontation with the princess had definitely made him wish for a moment or two alone.

The prince had not been lying when he had said the beach was beautiful at night. Indeed, everything was blue and silver, and the nearly full moon was riding high in the sky. It was almost dreamlike, and he wandered forward, losing his sense of time completely. Though there was no way Éomer would have traded his home for anything, he could see the beauty here, and understand why Imrahil's kin loved this land.

The air was warm for night, holding the promise of a long summer in it. Back in his home, it'd still be chilly after winter... how odd it would feel, to go back to Meduseld after this. But perhaps he was finally ready to move on.

Lost in his thoughts, Éomer walked on. He wasn't sure how far he was about to walk exactly, but he didn't mind. Walking was good, for when he concentrated on how the sand fell under his boots and how salty sea air expanded his lungs, it was a bit easier not to think of _her. _

Her, the mermaid, the Lady of the Sea...

And thought of her was painful somehow, so he desperately tried to think of something else. Éomer stopped finally and in hoping her image out of his mind, he stared out to the endless expanse of waves. All of a sudden, he wanted to plunge into it, and without another thought, he began to undress. The ball could wait.

He left all of his clothes on the beach, and he didn't even stop to think of how they were there for the first person to pick up (it'd be quite the scandal should he get back to the palace naked) and people would no doubt wonder when he'd return the ball covered in sand, but after the flowers that didn't even seem so odd. Éomer fixed his eyes on the sea, suddenly impatient to feel the waves closing around himself.

The water was cold as he waded deeper, but he didn't find the sensation too unpleasant. Rather, it made his blood run faster and prickled curiously at his skin. The floor of the beach was steep and he was quickly enveloped in the waters, and he let the gentle waves take a hold of him. Éomer was not a seaman but he knew sea was treacherous, and so while he swam, he followed the shoreline rather than dared out to the open waters. The cool water seemed to chase away his ill mood and his headache, and he decided it had been a good idea to come down here. It was so calm, so quiet...

After a while, he took a deep breath and dived under. The water was clear and moon provided some light, but somehow plunging into the darkness did not scare him. What really impressed him was the strange, vast quiet of underwater... he wasn't sure it was something he liked.

The young king was still diving when suddenly, a hand so strong grabbed him that for moment he thought some sea creature had come to take him and he almost panicked. But then he was pulled up into air, and as the suddenness of attack had surprised him and made him lose what breath he had left, he gasped for air.

Wiping salty water from his eyes, he looked about to see his attacker... only to see a very wet, very scared-looking Princess of Dol Amroth floating close to him. _Of course __it'd be her. _

"What on the name of Béma do you think you're doing?" he barked in annoyance. "You nearly scared me to death!"

"I thought you were drowning – I saw you go under and I thought..." she mumbled, and obviously she had already realised her error.

"I was completely fine, my lady. In fact, your attack was what nearly had me drowning!" he growled. "Did you not stop and think that perhaps you should ask if I needed your help?"

It was her turn to make a face.

"My lord, drowning people aren't usually able to answer any questions", she said brusquely.

"Well, you could have asked _me _before attacking me like some... some seawitch!" he informed her. But it was starting to get hard to be angry at her, because he could practically see her naked form now, and she could very well see his as he was wearing less than she was (this white gown of hers hid even less than the last time). But he had gotten here first, he had just been minding his own business, and he'd be damned if he got bashful now.

"I was just trying to help!" she argued, however. Either she hadn't noticed his state of undress or was deliberately ignoring it.

"So now you want to be kind and helpful! How very nice of you!" he growled. She looked at him in outrage.

"You unbearable man! First you're all impudent and staring and touching me in way you have no business touching me, then you appear in my family's breakfast table and confuse me to death... and then suddenly you decide to get angry at me just for playing the game in your own rules! Do tell me, O Lord of the Mark, is there one consistent cell in that body... that body of yours?" she exclaimed and seemed to look at him for the first time. Judging by the way her eyes widened, she hadn't even noticed earlier that he indeed was very naked. He stared at her sternly, and he was about to speak, but she was faster than him.

"Oh... my", Lothíriel breathed, and only now did he realize just how beautiful she looked in this light, how she was bathed in silver and her dark hair floated about her shoulders. She looked at him, her eyes large and sparkling and _so alive, _and it was all so stupid because he had no idea what was going in her head and there were still flowers in his hair and this wasn't how it was supposed to go at all...

"You, my good king, are an utter and complete madman", she announced, lifting her chin and straightening her posture so that her breast rose too...

_Damn. _

"Oh, shut up, you", grunted the King of Rohan, scooped towards her, and grabbed her into a kiss.

It wasn't probably what your grand and wonderful first kiss ought to be, but it was everything else: her warm body against his, the waves lapping around them, her breasts pressing against his chest, her arms about his neck and her fingers in his hair, the feel of her hips and her round bottom as he grabbed her closer... and the sweet taste of her mouth, the eagerness of her tongue against his own, the perfect way their lips melded... and Valar, _he wanted her... _

Her legs wrapped about his own and he groaned, feeling himself getting harder by the second, and she must have felt it too – there was no way she could miss something like that when she was so close...

He lost his footing in water and fell back and she followed right after, apparently reluctant to let the kiss end quite yet. They fell under the waves and still she wouldn't let him go. And they were enveloped by the waters, the waves lulling them gently, and there was enough light to see how she looked at him, the endless blue of the sea and the silver light of moon breaking through the waters, how her hair floated about them... that moment just before the air became necessary was the single most magical instance of his whole life.

Then he lifted up them both and he gasped for air. Lothíriel was breathing quickly, with her breast rising and falling fast, and her face was flushed. Just looking at her made him feel weak, and he desperately wanted to kiss her again.

"Lothíriel", he rasped, not really sure of what one should have said after something like _that, _and it was a wonder that he could speak at all.

"You, King Éomer of the Riddermark, are a scoundrel and you're going to drive me mad", she announced and tried to sound tough, but he could see she was just as shaken as he was. Then Lothíriel made a face at him and then she began swimming for the shore, and he was left staring after her.

_What a woman. _


	7. Chapter 7

The first light of day brought him back to the waking world. The flicker of light tickled his face and slowly, Éomer's eyes fluttered open.

He could not remember when he had last felt so rested, so calm. One would have thought that all the excitement of yesterday would have left him restless, but instead, the moment he had lowered his head on his pillow, he had slipped into a dreamless sleep.

Watching how the amount of light grew in the chamber, Éomer thought of the last night. After getting a grip of himself, he had swam for the shore and dressed, though the flames that had burned both him and the princess had still been there inside his blood. The next time he'd see her would be most interesting... and he had no idea how he was supposed to keep his hands off her. _Damned woman. _

He had gotten back to the palace and to his surprise, the ball had not yet ended. So he had slipped in and tried to look as if he had not been away. After a while, Imrahil had spotted him and it looked like the Prince noticed the young king's damp hair and sand on his clothes (though he had tried to press away as much water as he had been able and smooth away the sand). But at least Imrahil did not comment on; instead, the older man had noted he looked tired and prompted Éomer to go to bed. That had been a suggestion the Lord of the Mark eagerly complied with. He had wandered into his room and had probably strongly resembled a sleepwalker as he did so, and Éothain gave him some pointed looks that implied the captain thought he had been drinking anyway despite of their agreement.

But now there was a prospect of breakfast looming on the front of him, and how on earth was he supposed to act all natural after what had happened last night? How would he be able not to stare at her and think of their encounter at the beach? The feel of her body against his, the taste of her mouth...

He stopped that line of thought before it could get to full swing. Éomer quickly got on his feet and decided a quick wash was required to get rid of the feel of dried salt water on his skin. While doing that, he pondered whether he should insist he was sick, but came to conclusion it would have been a poor idea. For one, it would have looked like he was having a hangover and secondly, being locked inside his room would only have left him bouncing off the walls while trying not to think of _her _in a very improper way.

It was still pretty early when he left his chamber, but Éomer felt he could not just sit there alone any longer. As he made his way to the royal family's dining room, he thought of what he'd do and say once he's see her, but suddenly all his confidence and charm seemed to have left him. He had always been popular with ladies and not only because he usually knew just the thing to say, but Lothíriel...

No, he had been foolish to think he could just leave now. He couldn't just ride home and pretend this mermaid had not bewitched him. He'd have to solve this mystery that was the Princess of Dol Amroth... and if he was certain of one thing, it was that you didn't kiss someone like she had kissed him if you loathed that person.

When he got to the dining room, he passed by servants who had apparently just set the table for the royal family. He was somewhat relieved to be there first, but he found himself hoping that Imrahil or even Erchirion had been there already. As soon as that thought passed his mind, Éomer felt like kicking himself. He was not a teenager anymore, damn it!

Éomer was gazing out of the window in an attempt to come up with what he should tell her when the door opened and someone stepped in. The step was too light to belong to one of the princes, and the soft rustling sound of skirts made his heart beat slightly faster. Slowly, he turned around.

Lothíriel stood quietly watching him, dressed in pale blue and her hair falling on her shoulders like rivers of black silk. He tried to read her eyes and perhaps guess what she was thinking of, but her gaze gave no hint of what was going in her mind. And still the sight of her made him feel curious warmth inside, like something had been missing during her absence.

"Good morning", he finally managed. The princess tilted her head lightly.

"Good morning, Sire", she answered. Now the glint of humour was obvious in her eyes and he relaxed. Perhaps she would not send her brothers after him for doing... well, what he had done. Then again, she _had _contributed most enthusiastically.

"I take it you're not angry with me?" he felt obliged to ask. She had seemed kind of annoyed last night... but then, her temper was quarrelsome – at least it had been so far. Unexpectedly, he was starting to feel light again, and his confidence was definitely returning when he remembered how effortless it could be with her. Why had he been worried again?

The princess lifted her eyebrows.

"Should I be, then?" she asked back and took another step forwards. She lay her small hands on the backrest of her chair, watching him with some curiosity in her eyes now. It was probably a good thing there was a dining table between them, for otherwise he might just have leaped towards her and grab her, and it would not do if Imrahil walked in on _that. _

"I don't know. If you are, it would very much make me worry for my abilities of charm", he answered. That made her smile, and sudden sense of wobbliness came to him. Damn, she was pretty when she smiled.

"Oh, my good king, that is one thing you needn't worry about. I hear that your powers of charm were quite the sensation among the ladies last night. Some of them were very dazzled by... how do they call you? The Lion of Rohan?" she said. Éomer frowned.

"To be honest, I don't care much about what the ladies thought. In fact, there is only one lady whose bedazzlement I am interested in", he told her.

Lothíriel lifted her eyebrows again. She tilted her head slightly and watched him with a thoughtful look in her eyes.

"You never answered my question, though. You did not tell me if there is a consistent cell in that body of yours", she pointed out and frowned.

"What would your observations so far suggest?" he asked.

"My observations tell me that you make no sense at all", Lothíriel announced and crossed her arms on her chest.

"I don't?" Éomer asked, smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I fear it is because you rob me of my sense, dearest Princess."

"Like I said. No sense or consistency at all", she muttered and shook her head.

"I... I'm sorry that I snapped at you last night. It was very rude of me", he said then, searching for her eyes. That brought out another of those precious smiles of her.

"Apology accepted, Sire", she said sweetly, but then her brow furrowed just a bit. "Well? Are you going to apologize for taking unheard liberties with my person?"

"No, Princess. I'm not going to apologize kissing you", Éomer told her. "For to say I'm sorry for knowing the taste of your lips would be a most crude lie... and at the moment it very much appeared that you were rather delighted for me taking those liberties."

She lifted her eyebrows.

"To me it looked like you knew a lot of other things too than just my lips", she pointed out, and he couldn't suppress a smug smile.

"That I did, Princess", he agreed and then frowned. "Do you think that is something you'd allow me to know again?"

Unfortunately, she didn't get to answer that, for the door opened and Imrahil stepped in. Like usually, the Prince seemed to be on a cheerful mood and he smiled at the sight of his daughter and guest. Of course, he was blissfully unaware of the heavily electrified air between the two. Éomer had to tear away his eyes from her; it wouldn't do to ogle at her in the front of her father.

"Good morning, Lothíriel, Éomer", Imrahil said to the two, who answered the greeting as they took their seats by the table. As soon as they were sitting and trying to look at things that were not each other, Erchirion arrived too. The prince looked like he had had very little sleep last night.

"Amrothos asked me to say he's not going to come down", Erchirion informed his father, "or, at least I think that's what his unintelligible groans meant."

Imrahil cast a frustrated glance towards the ceiling.

"You should have kept an eye on him, Erchirion. You know that this is exactly what he does to himself when no one regulates his wine consumption", the Prince said, sounding a bit like this was conversation that had occurred and reoccurred to the point of exhaustion.

"Sorry, Father, but I had other things to attend to", the second-born prince defended himself. "And you know just as well as I do that trying to hold back Amrothos at a ball is like trying to yell to the waves not to roll towards the shore. Not to mention I have a feeling His Majesty's men might just have encouraged him to drink more than his share. Though I must say seeing Éothain and Wíglic carry my brother to bed was very funny."

"I am very sorry, Imrahil. I will speak with my riders of this", Éomer said most gravely, though he knew it would have been like shouting to the wind. His men were loyal to death but that didn't mean they obeyed him in every small thing... especially when it came to drinking with Prince Amrothos. The thought of that brought back some very amusing memories from the Fields of Cormallen after Sauron had fallen.

"Well, I'd be lying if I said I didn't expect this. Sometimes I feel that my children are descended from rocks than actual people, what with their stubborn ways..." said Imrahil and shook his head. "Except for Elphir, perhaps."

"Of course. He's a priss, after all", Lothíriel said lightly, but at the sight of her father's suffering look, she winked, "I'm just joking, Father."

"Even if it's a joke, it's still true", Erchirion grinned.

"As you can see, my children are wild beasts", Imrahil said to the young king, but there was something almost like helpless amusement in his eyes.

"Yes, they're very wild indeed", Éomer quickly agreed, which made Lothíriel lift her eyebrows.

"And how does that make you feel, Sire?" she inquired.

"I am a man of the Mark, Princess. I've encountered quite a few wild things during my life... it takes a lot to disconcert or frighten me", he answered and gave her a similarly pointed look.

"Would you then say that you like wild things?" Lothíriel asked in that same innocent tone he was already starting to know; Erchirion looked profoundly confused and this time Imrahil too seemed to sense that something peculiar was happening.

"What does your instinct tell you, Princess?" Éomer asked back.

Imrahil's daughter smiled; the expression was wide, amused, cheerful. He decided that was something he could get used to.

"I have a feeling that you are starting to understand, Sire", she said softly.

* * *

**BrightWatcher -** I hope that is a good thing. :D

**anna1991 - **She was probably too flabbergasted to even think of doing that. And I doubt even Lothíriel is cruel enough to steal his clothes in this situation.

**Talia119 - **If it depended just on him, I doubt he would have stopped. :D

**BlueNynaeve - **Much better indeed!


	8. Chapter 8

He got the idea the moment he saw where her chamber window was located. It was during one walk through the garden with Imrahil (they were speaking of improvements for the Dimholt Road and apparently the Prince "thought better" out in the fresh air) when she opened her window and shouted to her father that some man named Lord Gelir had again sent her a love letter and that she needed the Prince to get this fellow off her back. Then she threw her window shut with considerable frustration, and Imrahil chuckled.

"Lord Gelir has been asking for her hand in marriage ever since she turned 14", the Prince explained when he saw Éomer's confused face. "Poor man is gaining on years, but he is as convinced as ever that she'd make a fine wife for him."

"You don't plan to comply?" the young king asked, though he didn't think there was anything for him to be worried of; he was fairly certain even Imrahil was not willing to brave her wrath for such a marriage.

"Oh, not at all. I fear my daughter is much too spirited for the old lord... it would only result in early widowhood", Imrahil said and shook his head. "My sons love to tease her about it, though."

They returned to their earlier topic then, but Éomer cast a glance at the window again and took note of the sturdy looking ivy that grew all the way up to her window and past it. He even returned to inspect it more closely, and as he felt the vines that snaked up on the stone surface of the wall, he smiled.

Indeed, he was feeling it was a time for some more flowers.

The opportunity rose later on the same day as he heard couple of servants talking and from their words understood that Lothíriel had requested bath water; the two servants probably thought him mad as he suddenly dashed away.

There was no really time for him to run down to the city for some flowers, but that was not a problem: the palace's gardens had enough plants for all sorts of flower arrangements. There should be enough time for what he was planning anyway, if she was going to take a bath (it took some strength of character not to think of her _in _that bath).

Raiding some of the royal plantings and flowerbeds proved most productive, and after finding a nice shadowy corner he sat down and began to work. He had picked a corner where he hopefully would not be noticed by any potential passer-bys or gardeners, because what he was doing was not something a warrior king from the north would be proud to admit being capable of. Well, unless it was her he was confessing this skill of his, like he was about to do. After all that had happened so far, this was actually kind of small. But not even slightly less foolish.

When he was ready, he studied his handiwork. _Perfect. _

It had also taken enough time that, he hoped, she would already have finished her bath.

The garden was blissfully empty when he sneaked under her window. Not only would it be a strange thing indeed what he was about to do, but he didn't think Imrahil would be too impressed either.

He tried the vine once again and it was just as sturdy and strong as he remembered. Slowly, he started climbing: he sought for edges to support his feet and his hands. Back when he had been a child, he had taken much pride in knowing that he was the best climber in Aldburg, perhaps in all of Rohan even. In fact, he had been such a good climber that Éowyn had started to call him the Mountain Goat when she had wanted to annoy him. These days he did not do that so often anymore (not only was it difficult with all the armour he had to wear), but he was delighted to notice that his old talent was not gone.

Actual physical exertion felt good after loitering about in the palace (he made a note for having to ask if Erchirion or Amrothos would fancy some sparring later), and soon he was just below her window. He knocked at the glass, but carefully kept his head down; Éomer did not particularly want a window frame knocking his head.

She opened the window quickly enough and looked about in confusion, until she lowered her gaze and saw him: the King of Rohan, dangling from the vines under her window, wearing a flower garland on his head. It was the most ridiculous thing he had ever done and yet he was still grinning like a madman. And just like he had hoped, her eyes widened in shock and amazement.

"What do you think you are doing, you bloody idiot?" she exclaimed and her voice rose up couple octaves.

"Bringing you flowers, of course. Isn't it obvious?" he asked jovially.

"Isn't it obv- oh, what did I ever do to deserve this?" she wailed and then grimaced at him. "Get inside, before you fall and break your neck! Do you have any idea of what would happen if you got yourself killed here?"

"Your lack of faith in my skills of self-preservation disturbs me", he informed her, but nevertheless climbed up and through her window. Once there, he took a look around him: it was none other than her bedchamber, and there would be so much trouble if it was discovered he had entered it. The furniture had been made of light-coloured wood, but the craftsmanship didn't seem quite as elaborate to him as it was back in his home. Cushions and covers on her bed were blue and purple – a combination which seemed to be a favourite of hers, if anything could be judged by the colourful curtains, tapestries and carpets.

His attention, however, was quickly brought back to her, for she was staring at him and the look on her face was that of displeasure. Then he remembered the flowers and took the garland from his hair.

"Here. These are for you. I meant to bring a bouquet but as you probably may have guessed, I needed my hands for other things while getting here", he said and offered the garland to her. She frowned but still accepted his gift. Then she gave him a sour look.

"You know, if you truly wanted to give me flowers, there would have been easier ways to do that. And you could have used a door, you know", she said and inspected the garland. "I see the flowers are from the gardens, you shameless bandit. Who did you bully into making this?"

"I could not just walk into your personal chambers, could I? And sometimes one must go odd ways to get what one wants", he said, and gave her a smug little smile, "For your information, I did not need to bully anyone. I made that myself."

She looked surprised when she heard that.

"Really? I wouldn't have thought you would know how to weave a garland", she said and though she tried hard to suppress the impressed note in her voice, she didn't quite succeed.

"My sister taught me. Or, you could rather say that she forced me", Éomer said, smiling as he spoke. "I never thought that particular skill would come in handy..."

"Really? I must talk with her, then. I need to know how does one force the King of Rohan do things", Lothíriel commented and set the garland on her bedside table, so that it sat in upright position.

"Princess, I don't think you need my sister's help in _that. _You seem to be naturally gifted in making me do things I wouldn't do otherwise", he said, wondering how he should proceed. She saved him the effort, though, as she smiled and turned to look at him.

"Would brushing my hair be one of those things you wouldn't do otherwise? I wouldn't have to call a maid to do that like I meant to do just before you decided to show up, and besides it gives me a moment to think of how I will smuggle you out of my chambers without anyone noticing", she said, tilting her head thoughtfully.

"Only if you promise you'll never tell anyone", he said, though truthfully he rather liked the idea of getting to touch her hair. "I fear my men would never let me hear the end of it. Soon they would be asking me to brush _their _hair."

"Oh, I'll keep it a secret... unless I need to blackmail you", she said sweetly as she sat by a dressing table. She offered him an elaborately decorated, silver-handled brush.

"Blackmail me? To do what?" he inquired as he took handful of her hair and began brushing. She had very soft, almost silky hair – nothing like his own rough mane.

"I can think of few things", Lothíriel said lightly, "but it wouldn't be much of a surprise later if I tell you now, would it?"

"You are a cruel woman, Princess", Éomer told her. And bloody divine when she smiled like that via the mirror of her dressing table at him.

"Of course I am. I was brought up by the sea, and the sea is cruel", she said nonchalantly. He harrumphed at that and decided to keep his thoughts to himself.

"My maid told me the most entertaining thing today", she said after a moment. "Apparently one Lord Himmion was seen wearing flowers in his hair yesterday. The gossip even tells he gave a flower from his hair to Lady Limwen, whom he has fancied for some time now."

"He did?" Éomer asnwered in non-committal tone.

"Oh yes. I believe you have succeeded in starting a new fashion here in Dol Amroth, my good king... if you ask me, the florists of the city will have run out of anything to sell before the week has ended", the princess said; it sounded like she was very amused by this.

"Hmph. Your citizens will be most confused when they hear that wearing flowers to your hair is in fact not a Rohirric custom..." he said, not lifting his eyes from his task.

"Admit it. You would enjoy the reputation of an eccentric", she sniggered.

"If it spares me from dealing with bothersome people, then yes", he commented. As he brushed her hair, his hand came in contact with her bare shoulder; her light blue robe, which was obviously meant for wearing when the lady was alone without any male company, showed ample amounts of her shoulders. She shivered just slightly and breathed before she could mask her reaction.

He lowered himself so that his face was on the same level as hers, but slightly behind so that his mouth was beside her ear. He spoke: "You did not answer that question of mine, though."

"What question, O Lord of the Mark?" she asked, staring hard at him through the mirror.

"If you would mind me taking liberties with your person again", he asked, lowering his voice so that it was smooth and deep. He eagerly watched for her reaction and indeed, a faint blush coloured her cheeks. Then she frowned and turned her head... and there was really no way he could pass that chance. So when she turned, she found her mouth on his.

Lothíriel made a noise at the back of her throat but she didn't push him away. Rather, she jumped up and practically threw her arms around his neck. He grabbed her and held her tight against himself, liking how her shape settled on his own... the fire inside him roared and it was kind of chaotic, with teeth clashing and mouths seeking one another and she held him so tight that he even momentarily feared she might crush his neck.

Perhaps it was only inevitable that he fell back on her bed, with her on his lap, and her body so devastatingly soft and perfect under his hands...

After a moment, she pulled back. The hair that he had so neatly brushed only just before was now something of a mess, but he dazedly thought she had never looked more beautiful.

"You know we shouldn't be doing this", she said breathlessly, though she made no move to leave his embrace.

"I do", he admitted and rested his hands on her hips. This setting reminded him of the first time he had seen her... only, back then he wouldn't have guessed what direction things would take.

He then took a firmer grasp of her and rolled over, so that for change she was under him, and he whispered: "But we are doing it anyway."

"Contain yourself, Your most enthusiastic Majesty", she said, placing a hand on his chest. "I did not tell you yes."

Well, that much was true. Supporting himself on his arms, he looked down at her and a powerful need for her, not physical one but something that seemed to echo through his very soul, started to fill him.

"Marry me", he blurted out before he could stop himself. Then again, he did not regret those words once they were out in the open. She did not seem too surprised either. The princess just slightly lifted her eyebrows, as if to ask: _it took you this long? _

"No", she answered – she still allowed him to kiss her, though. Truthfully speaking, it wasn't like he had expected her to consent right away.

"Please, marry me, Lothíriel", he asked again. His face was so close to hers that his lips almost touched hers.

"I won't", she said. He kissed her once more and still she did nothing to push him away.

"I can be awfully persistent, you know", he told her.

"So can I, dearest Lion", she answered.

"Lion?" he asked and lifted his eyebrows.

"That's what they call you, isn't it? And honestly, your hair does remind me of a lion's mane... not to mention you seem to have a temper of one..." Lothíriel said and there was a good-humoured glint in her grey eyes.

"Then become my Lioness", he whispered, again in that low and smooth tone that had her blushing before.

"You need more than that to convince me", she breathed. He rolled them around again, and now she was on the top of him.

"What does it take to convince you, then?" he asked, and his question made her smile.

"It wouldn't be very fun if I told you, would it?" she asked sweetly.

"As a matter of fact, it would be very fun if you just answered the question", he said and wrapped his arms about her so that her delightful little body was completely pressed against his own.

"Your Majesty, I don't know what the customs are in your country, but here you don't just propose to a girl like that. You haven't even courted me!" she pointed out and her voice was that of someone scandalized, but he wasn't too convinced. That might have had something to do with the fact that her face was just inches away from his and she looked like it took most of her willpower not to kiss him – no, not kiss him, but _ravish _him.

"I haven't courted you?" he asked with some confusion. "Then what on earth has this been?"

"It's... I don't know", she said and looked profoundly perplexed. "What is it, Sire?"

"In our land, things are done more straightforwardly. If you don't understand by now what my intentions are towards you, then I do not know what more I should do to make you understand", he said and kissed her yet again. Then he asked, just out of spite, "Marry me?"

"I told you no already", she moaned and sat up. "And I really should try and get you out before someone comes and I need to hide you in my closet."

"What if I want to you to hide me in your closet?"

"Oh, shut up!"

* * *

**A/N: **I'm having way too much fun with this piece. :D What can I say? I just have no control over this anymore - Lothíriel and Éomer have started to live a life of their own... Well, I suppose it's a necessary counterbalance for all the angst that is currently taking place in _Heart's Desire.  
_

As always, thanks for comments and for reading this!


	9. Chapter 9

The bath was delightfully hot and with a soft moan, he settled back. People said a lot of things about the Rohirrim, and perhaps some of those thing were even true, but personally Éomer King of Rohan found bathing most agreeable pastime. So it wasn't like he always stank of chainmail and horses, no matter what some foul tongues (or just Éothain) liked to say.

These first moments of bath he always liked to dedicate to just _being. _The hot water would soothe away his tension and he could forget about everything else for a while. Sometimes, it lead into him losing himself, and when he became aware again, the water was already getting cold.

But for now the water was hot and he was enjoying the heat. In fact, the water had such effect on him that he more or less forgot about things that happened around him – a poor quality for the King of the Mark who also liked to leave his window open. But then, in his defence, he wasn't still completely used to this king business and sometimes he just forgot about the whole "preservation of your most royal life" thing. Éothain – and others – could be so ridiculous about it sometimes, as if he had just forgotten about how to defend himself!

Perhaps Éothain had the right of it, though, for he never heard _her _enter. Well, maybe that wasn't such a wonder, because she didn't enter through the door, after all. And her feet were very light indeed. So he did not hear her; instead, he kind of dozed off in his bath and only became aware of her when she lay a small hand on his shoulder.

Éomer startled in his bath and his eyes shot open. And there she stood, beside his tub, looking insufferably smug as she stared down at him.

"My princess", he greeted her; her behaviour on the breakfast had not suggested he should expect a visit from her today, "how can I be of help? And if I may ask, what are you doing in my chambers? How did you even get in?"

"Well, you infiltrated _my _chambers the other day, so I decided to return the favour. You're not the only one who can climb, you know. Is this a bad moment?" she asked and looked at him with such wide and ridiculously innocent eyes that he wanted to laugh.

"Do I look like I think it's a bad moment?" he inquired, lifting his eyebrows.

"Well, you _are _in a bath. I didn't expect that", she said and frowned.

"Oh, don't be foolish. It's not the first time you find me without my clothes", Éomer reminded her.

"Indeed it's not", Lothíriel agreed and grinned. "I wonder if it is a special skill of mine – to find kings when they are on various states of undress."

That made him frown.

"To be completely honest, I have nothing against you finding _me _on various states of undress, but if you decide to extend _that _to other kings-" he began, but she lifted a hand and fell on her knees by the tub.

"No, I don't plan on doing that", she reassured him with a smile.

"That, I am glad to hear", he told her and then took her hand. He gave a kiss to her knuckles and then looked intently at her. "Marry me?"

"You won't stop asking me, will you?" she grumbled. There was a most adorable pout on her face but he decided he shouldn't probably tell her of what he thought of it.

"Did you truly think I would?" he asked back and tilted his head.

"No", she said at last, "not really."

"Since the beginning, you have made it very hard _not _to ask you", Éomer said, lifting his hand to touch her cheek. She frowned, but at least she didn't push his hand away.

"So it's all my fault?" Lothíriel moaned.

"It didn't help that you kissed me back on that night at the beach", he said smugly. The princess rolled her eyes.

"I should have known that it would just add water to your mill. Now you will never leave me alone", she muttered, fighting to sound displeased.

"No, I won't", said the King of Rohan softly. He let her hand linger on her neck and he looked at her more seriously this time.

"What?" she asked.

"Marry me. Become my Queen", he pleaded and tried to sound not too desperate... even if that was difficult.

"No", answered the Princess quietly, though she still remained by the side of his tub.

"Why not?" he asked. It was a good question, after all.

"Just... because", she finally answered and looked away, trying to mask her grimace. He decided it wouldn't do to keep asking _now, _though he certainly would later.

"You know, I am starting to believe your father when he said that you are descended from rocks", he said in a lighter voice. "You are at least as stubborn as stone."

Lothíriel made a face at him, but the glint of humour was already starting to return into her eyes.

"That is rich, coming from you", she answered and rolled her eyes. "I've heard your people very much excel in being headstrong. So perhaps it is _you _who is descended from rocks!"

"Nonsense. Rocks can't ride like I do", he said smugly and leant back in the tub.

"Hmm. You claim to be the king of horselords, and yet I still have to see you on horseback", she remarked and moved so that she was behind him. She rolled her sleeves and then he realised she had decided she'd wash his hair. Now there was something he could appreciate. "If Your most regal Majesty would be kind enough to water your most royal hair."

He cupped his hands and scooped water over his head; it took a moment to get his hair properly wet, as his mane was thick and coarse.

"Then obviously I need to ask you for a ride, dearest Princess. Would tomorrow suit you?" he asked and ran his fingers through his now wet hair.

"Yes, it would", she answered and picked up soap. Then she started washing his hair, humming as she did so. Her nimble fingers massaged his scalp; a moan of pleasure escaped his lips and his eyes fluttered close.

"You know, it would be really difficult to explain this if anyone was to walk in now", Lothíriel commented after a while.

"More difficult than it would have been to explain my visit to your chambers the other day?" Éomer asked, not opening his eyes.

"At least you had clothes on then", she snorted.

"Hmm. Mind scratching my back? Just below the left shoulder-blade. Yes, precisely there..." he softly grumbled and arched his back at her touch.

"... did you just purr, Sire?" she asked, sounding vaguely amused.

"I did what?" he asked absent-mindedly.

"Of course. Indeed, they're not wrong at all to call you Lion, you big cat", she sniggered.

"Believe me, they did not give me that name because they thought me a purring little kitten", he told her.

"Now there's an idea I enjoy", the Princess said sweetly. The King of Rohan decided pass that with a snort as he began to rinse away the lather in his hair. Apparently he had not yet consumed all of her good will today, for she helped out with that ask, again humming to herself. It was a pleasant sound and he made a mental note of having to persuade her to sing for him some time.

"You know, you look kind of gorgeous when you think you're alone. I almost felt bad for disturbing you", she told him after a while.

"Kind of gorgeous? Me?" he laughed, but it made the princess snort.

"I was complimenting you, Sire, but of course we can't have that", she muttered.

"You complimenting me? It is hard to believe. I rather thought that was another of your little jokes", Éomer said, quickly arranging his face so that she wouldn't see his surprise. "Would you mind giving me the sponge?"

"What will you give me in exchange?" she asked.

"Well, I'll give you the courtesy of not rising up from the bath all in my naked glory", he said lightly.

"You would like that, wouldn't you?" the Princess chortled, half to herself, but she still offered him the sponge. He was about to make some comments one could have called crude, but managed to keep his mouth shut; instead, he gave her a shameless but still very charming grin.

"Just concentrate washing yourself. The water is already getting cold", she ordered curtly.

"As my Princess commands", he said and started to wash himself.

To be honest, the princess wasn't exactly subtle about the way she looked at him. Her eyes had become very intent as she followed him with her gaze, a soft blush on her cheeks. Not surprisingly, it made him feel rather smug.

"Who's staring at who now?" he asked after a while. He didn't even try to hide self-satisfaction from his voice.

"Shut up, Your Royal Smugness. It's not like you didn't ogle at me when we first met. I'm just returning the favour", she answered nonchalantly, never lifting her eyes to meet his.

"The views were rather compelling, yes", he agreed and smiled to himself. Speaking of that particular event, perhaps he should go out for a morning swim tomorrow... After all, so far it would seem that one could have such delightful encounters at the seaside.

As soon as he was done, he put away the sponge and washed away last of foam on his skin. Then he looked at her and asked: "Could your highness be persuaded to turn around and give me my robe?"

He half expected her to argue and tell him that no, she wasn't going to turn around, but this time she complied without arguments. Lothíriel picked up the dark green robe he had left on the chair nearby and offered it to him over her shoulder; where this sudden modesty had come to her, he wasn't so sure. Nevertheless, Éomer stood up from the tub and took the robe, which he quickly wrapped about himself.

"Well? Is your 'naked glory' safely out of sight? You really should put away that thing before someone is hurt", Lothíriel said, her voice full of good humour. Really, sometimes it still amazed him how adorable she could be despite her occasional taste for quarrel.

He chose not to answer her question with words, though. Instead, he stepped behind her and gently placed his arms about her form. At first she tensed at the unexpected touch, but then he could feel her relaxing and falling against him. He rested his cheek against her head and the sweet scent of her hair filled his nose... a sense of peace descended on him and he sighed.

After a while, she turned around and he lowered his head to kiss her. Only, it was nothing like those desperate, passion-filled kisses of before. Rather, it was tender and sweet, a lingering little moment of golden light...

When the kiss ended, Éomer pulled back and looked at her gravely.

"Why must we do this?" he asked; he didn't particularly like how helpless he sounded, but somehow he could not fill his voice with the strength he had hoped for.

"Do what?" she asked back, though there was a look in her eyes that she understood better than her question would imply.

"I'd be good for you", he told her softly. "I would take care of you. If you want, I'll be anything you wish me to be. Just say the word and I'll turn north to south. If you want, everything that is mine is yours too."

"I..." she began but words seemed to escape her, and she looked away.

"Lothíriel, look at me", he asked, and she turned her eyes again to him.

"Éomer..." she said quietly, and at the sound of his name on her lips, his heart made a strange little back-flip.

"You have bewitched me, my mermaid. And there is no other woman in this world that I'd rather spend my life with. Please say yes", he whispered, brushing the back of his fingers across her cheek.

"You really mean that? This is not just some idea of yours of a practical joke while having some good time with the girl who can't contain herself?" she asked

"Why do you think I keep asking you to marry me?" he inquired, amazed that she would show that kind of insecurity. He hadn't thought there would be such thing in her... but then, even the most confident had their moments of weakness. "If you believe that I am jesting, then you really do not know the Rohirrim. While we love a good laugh, we are also honest... and when we say something, we mean it."

"And you will not stop it, will you?" the princess said quietly, and it didn't really sound like a question to him.

"I... it's not often that one meets someone like you. And truthfully speaking, no woman has ever taken my breath away like you do daily", he said, resting his hand on her neck. "But if you truly wish me to stop asking and back off, then... I will do that. Please, tell me, do you wish me to let go?"

Lothíriel let out a small sigh and turned to look away for a moment. When she looked back at him, her eyes were serious.

"I will not say yes or no yet", she started slowly, "What I want is you to properly court me. And give me some time to think."

"'Properly' court you?" Éomer asked and could not hold back a grimace. "You mean flowers that are delivered through doors instead of windows and sitting in parlours while some formidable aunt of yours watches every move and comes after me with a knitting needle if I as much as touch your hand?"

The princess made a face at that.

"No", she said finally "not really. I don't think either of us could stand that."

"Then what?" he demanded.

"I... to be honest, you've not done so badly so far. True, sometimes you drive me mad, but you also make me laugh... Let us agree that we continue the same way, but you don't ask me to marry you ten times during one day, and you should make your intentions known to my father some time soon", she finally said.

"Four", he said quickly.

"Four what?" she wondered.

"You let me propose to you four times a day", Éomer said with his most appealing expression.

"No, that's too much. One time a day is quite enough", she told him.

"All right, three times then. Please?"

"You knew we were going to settle for two. And not any more than that, my good king", Lothíriel sighed and rolled her eyes.

"Do I at least get to kiss you? You're very kissable, you know, and you should be kissed well and often", he wanted to know.

"Fine, you get to kiss me, but only as long as you promise not to do it in the front of my family", she agreed, and now there was even a small smile on her face.

"As you wish, fair lady", he said, feeling more than just a little pleased at how things had turned out. He pulled her into a kiss, where they lingered for a long moment. Then she pulled back and looked at him with narrowed eyes.

"Now, please tell me more about how you're going to turn north to south for me..."

* * *

**Talia119 - **I doubt there's something wrong with her - Lothíriel just knows that marrying Éomer would change a lot of things in her life... and even if she's self-confident, she's not sure if he's just toying with her or if he's actually serious. But perhaps in this chapter, she starts to believe that he indeed means what he says and does. And the fact that she doesn't just give in right away... well, it's no wonder Éomer is crazy for her. :)


	10. Chapter 10

It took a lot to impress Éomer when it came to horses. After all, he was a man of the Mark and he had grown up surrounded by the herds of most magnificent horses you could find in all of Middle-earth. Sometimes he even forgot that not all people had access to such animals... and he'd be almost surprised to see the mounts some people would call horses – or just downright insulted.

He wasn't insulted, though, by the horse they said belonged to Princess Lothíriel. Rather, Éomer watched the animal with indignant disbelief. He'd have thought her mount would be a bit like herself: spirited, beautiful, swift-footed... but instead, they brought forth a horse that in his opinion should have retired from riding purposes already. Well, at least the mare's white coat was very well looked-after, but it had a gentle look in its eyes from which he knew it had never been much of a sprinter. What had Imrahil been thinking when he had provided his daughter with this animal?

Momentarily, he thought about asking one of his men to lend her his horse, but then decided against it. After all, the mounts he and his men rode were warhorses, and he knew perfectly well how dangerous those could be in the hands of someone who didn't know how to handle them. In the end, he made a mental note of having to gift her with a proper horse as soon as he could. What kind of a husband candidate did it even make him if he could not provide the lady of his interest with a real horse? He'd be laughed at all over the Riddermark.

The preparations for the ride were mostly done when she joined him. Lothíriel's looks of longing, cast at the Rohirric steeds, were not lost to the Lord of the Mark. _Make that an entire herd, _he thought to himself as he pondered what kind of horse would suit her best. He already knew what he'd give to her as a morning gift... if she ever said yes, that was.

"My Princess", he greeted her, and she gave him a small smile. She was dressed in riding garb, with a split skirt that made it easier for one to move, and under it leggings, much like those Rohirric women wore when they rode.

"Sire", she answered, still looking at the horses around her with unveiled longing. "I've tried not to visit the stables, knowing that I'd only get a strong urge to try and steal one of your horses... they truly are beautiful, like everyone always says."

"We don't take pride in our horses for nothing", he said and patted his own horse's neck. Firefoot neighed and tossed its head, just as eager for a brisk gallop as its master was. Éomer smiled weakly, "I would not recommend trying to steal a Rohirric warhorse, though. They do not react well to that sort of business."

"What a pity", she said. Then she gave him a devious smile. "Perhaps I need to steal a Rohir too, then."

"Really? Let me know how that plan goes. I might even be able to find you someone who is eager to be stolen by you", he told her. The princess snorted and he grinned to himself.

Not long after, the company rode out. The day was sunny, and they were accompanied not only by his guards, but Erchirion as well, and several of noble ladies who had decided to come along. Some food had been packed too, because apparently someone thought a picnic was in order, which of course meant servants would come too. It was precisely that "flowers delivered through doors and an aunt with a knitting needle" -category Éomer had feared. Such a company also meant there was no proper riding involved but just ridiculously slow gait along the beach. Firefoot kept tossing its head and he could feel how tense the animal was; once, the horse even neighed loudly like it was asking if this truly was the extent of their outing.

"Don't worry, old man", Éomer whispered to his horse in quiet Rohirric when they stopped about two leagues from the palace (he had never travelled such a short distance so slowly), "I am already thinking of a plan. Soon you'll get to show our princess what is the meaning of speed."

"Speaking with animals now, are you, Éomer?" asked Erchirion who had wandered nearby.

"Of course I am", said the young king nonchalantly and petted Firefoot's neck. "And he's answering, but you don't hear because you don't listen."

"He is? What does he say then?" asked the prince.

"That your teeth are lovely and he'd like me to introduce him to you", Éomer answered innocently. Erchirion looked taken aback and then he laughed.

"Oh, shut up. That's not funny at all", he said, trying to sound stern but failing.

"It's a bit funny", said the younger man with a grin.

"You tell yourself that", Erchirion chortled and rolled his eyes. "I see why our sister likes you, though."

"You think that she does?" Éomer asked, watching the prince from the corner of his eyes.

"Oh, I bet she does. I don't think I've ever really heard her talking to a man like she talks to you", said his friend. Then Erchirion's face turned more serious. "Just don't hurt her, Éomer."

"I won't", the King promised solemnly.

Their conversation was disrupted then, however; the Princess in question approached them and it looked like she was not completely content with how this riding trip was turning out. Erchirion grinned at the young king and slipped away.

"If I have to hear one more observation on how 'majestic' your people look on a horse, I think I might just ride into the ocean", she said, her voice heavy with frustration.

"You don't think me majestic?" Éomer inquired, pretending shock. He offered his arm at her and they strolled along the beach while the servants were busy preparing the picnic and the ladies entertained themselves with various occupations, like searching seashells.

"I think you many things but it gets kind of tedious when it's repeated for the thousandth time", Lothíriel said and sighed. "And for your information, this is not at all what I imagined when I thought about riding with you."

"Dearest princess, I couldn't agree more", he said heartily. Then he lowered his voice, "which is why I am planning something more private."

"Do tell me, Lion", she urged him, and he lifted his eyebrows.

"You're really going to use that name, darling?" he inquired.

"I call you what I will", Lothíriel said nonchalantly. "Now stop clinging on trifles and tell me about this plan of yours."

"Do you think you can sneak out of the palace some night soon? Tonight, for example?" Éomer asked. The princess looked up and him and her face was unimpressed.

"Do you think you can ride a horse?" she asked back.

"Now, there's no reason to mock me, sweetling", he told her, which made her smile most charmingly at him.

"Then stop asking questions like that and speak up", she urged; he decided he'd make her pay for that later on some more convenient occasion.

"If you want to see proper Rohirric riding, meet me tonight at the beach – near the place where we first met. I trust you haven't forgotten that yet?" he inquired, which made her snort.

"You seriously think one could forget that?" Lothíriel asked, but then she let out a small silvery laugh that made him feel strangely giddy. But he didn't tell her that. "Have no worries, dearest Lion. Just tell me when to be there, and I'll come."

"After midnight, perhaps?" he suggested.

"Mm. That sounds good. It should be full moon tonight, by the way", Lothíriel commented. She looked up at him and her eyes sparkled with excitement. "I can't wait, my darling King."

"Neither do I", he said. Then he smiled, "Now, princess, I have been unable not to notice what sort of animal you ride. As the King of Rohan I happen to have access to some very high quality horses and I'd like to know you what kind of steed you'd prefer."

Her eyes got really wide at that.

"Are you telling me what I think you're telling me?" she asked, suddenly vehement.

"At least I think I am offering you a horse, but I could be wrong", Éomer answered lightly. She let out a shriek that probably only dogs heard and she grabbed his arm in enthusiasm, which she then waved about with the intention of... well, he wasn't so sure. But it was his arm she was waving about, and he found that agreeable.

"Oh, Éomer, I think I could kiss you right now and I wouldn't even care what people thought!" Lothíriel gushed happily. "Thank you! Thank you so much!"

And the look on her face and the light in her eyes were really the only reward he needed.

* * *

Leaving the castle in the middle of night was even easier than Éomer would have thought. Indeed, his nonsense story of how on this time of year, the King of the Mark had to go alone for a ride during full moon did not seem to raise any suspicion in the guards that let him out with Firefoot. They had probably heard of the flowers and just thought his people had some strange customs. And even if the story was recited to Imrahil, Éomer could just say that he had not been able to sleep and that Firefoot had been in a need of letting out some steam anyway. It wasn't like the Prince was his overly protective mother, after all.

Once he was down at the beach, Éomer dismounted and stopped to wait for the princess. It was truly a beautiful night and he could not have chosen a better time: the full moon painted the world with silver and the sea was calm, and what breath there was in the air was gentle and warm.

It was not long after that he spotted the dark figure hurrying towards him, and his heart fluttered at the sight of her. He had waited for this more than he had realised.

She had dressed in dark blue – a wise choice of colour for someone sneaking about in the night. Her long hair fell as a neat braid on her shoulder and her eyes sparkled with anticipation. He thought about telling her she was beautiful, but then she was on the front of him and wearing a small mischievous smile on her face and his breath was momentarily caught in his throat.

"There you are. I was starting to think you wouldn't come", he said and smiled as soon as he had recovered his voice.

"Oh, don't be foolish. There's no way I would miss this", Lothíriel said and tiptoed to press a kiss on his bearded cheek, but he quickly turned his face so that her lips landed instead on his mouth. She let out a displeased sound but wrapped her arms about his neck anyway and let him kiss her.

After greetings were done, he placed his hands so that she could use them as a step to mount Firefoot. Taking support from his shoulder, she practically leaped up into the saddle. As soon as she was mounted, he joined her on his faithful steed's back. He gathered reins in one hand and placed an arm about her midsection.

"I am capable of staying in the saddle, Sire", Lothíriel told him.

"Do forgive me, for I did not know you had much experience of Rohirric warhorses", he snorted. "No arguments, dearest Princess. If you succeed in falling from the saddle and cracking your skull, Imrahil might declare war on Rohan."

"I'm sure it's just an excuse for you to grope me", Lothíriel grumbled in mock disdain.

"You see right through me, my mermaid", said the King and rolled his eyes, but he couldn't help a smile.

He urged Firefoot to move, and at first the animal kept up steady gait. Then slowly he let the horse speed up, until it was full gallop and they were flying on the beach, like the west wind gushing through the valleys. In his embrace, Lothíriel was shivering and from her laughter he knew it was because of her excitement and wonder. He smiled to himself and let Firefoot carry them forwards. And the night was silver and blue, and they were fast and free and she was there with him, her soft little body pressed against his own... her laughter rang in his ears and it was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard. It was that moment Éomer knew he loved her.

They rode on for some time, the sea by their left and the shore on right. The soft sand swallowed the sound of hooves, and as he had given the princess a demonstration of Firefoot's speed, he let the animal slow down a bit. Gradually she became more relaxed in his embrace and placed her hand on his.

After some time, he pulled the reins and gradually his horse slowed down and stopped. Éomer dismounted and then helped his companion down also. She looked a bit disappointed.

"Why did we stop? I would have liked to go on for a bit more", she said.

"You would have us ride all the way to Lindon? We can do that, but I fear we must go and tell your father first, and perhaps take some food for the journey", he said lightly as he spread his cloak on the ground for her to sit on. She groaned at his observations as she sat down and he settled beside her.

"Well? How did you like it?" he asked. A blissful little smile came to her face.

"It was amazing. I loved it. Thank you", Lothíriel said and looked at him, her eyes full of light.

"You're welcome", he said softly, gazing at her in wonder.

"I really mean it. I... I should give you something in turn", she mused and worried her lip pensively.

"You don't have to. It made you laugh, and that is all the reward I could hope for", Éomer said plainly, which turned her face solemn.

"Are you even real?" she asked softly after staring at him silently for a moment.

"What?" he asked with some confusion.

"It's just... you just seem too good to be real. I don't know if I'm just dreaming", she said, looking at him with a soft look in her eyes he did not really understand. Suddenly, she looked somehow younger, more vulnerable. A need to hold her close came to him but he remained where he sat.

"Oh, I believe I'm quite real, min sæides", he said softly.

"What's that word?" Lothíriel asked. "What does it mean?"

"It's... it means something like 'Seawoman'. You call me Lion, so you should have a nickname of your own", Éomer answered.

"Say it again. How do you pronounce it?" asked the Princess.

He had to say the word several times for her before she could pronounce it properly. When she had it right, she smiled.

"You know, I've yet to thank you properly", she told him. "For taking me to ride and promising to give me a horse."

"Oh, it's nothing. I am the King of horselords, after all. It would be embarrassing if I could not provide you with a proper steed", he waved his hand nonchalantly, but she looked at him solemnly.

"It's not 'nothing' to me, Éomer", she said softly. He was about to speak again but she pressed a finger on his lips. So he fell silent and looked at her questioningly.

Lothíriel placed her hands gently on his shoulders, and then she pushed him down, so that he fell on his back. Then she settled on his lap, straddling his hips; a setting that was starting to become familiar. She leant down to kiss him, and he wrapped his arms about her to get as close to her as virtually was possible. Her hands were in his hair, her breast brushed against him, and her mouth on his was just as eager as he had dreamed. It quickly got very heated – so heated, as a matter of fact, that he almost thought they were going to lay together here on this beach, like husband and wife. He at least would have liked nothing better, but he knew he had to think of her; while his reputation would hardly suffer from that, it wasn't the same for her.

She pulled back at last, her breathing ragged, lips swollen from their kisses, and eyes dark and intense. _Ah, min léoflic S__æides!_

"I... seem to have gotten very excited. I am sorry", he apologised, his voice hoarse despite his attempts to sound calm and collected. She lifted her eyebrows just slightly.

"Do you really think we'd do this if I minded your excitement?" she inquired. Then she pressed another small kiss on his lower lip. "To be honest, Sire, I rather like it."

"You do?" he asked. It demanded no small amount of willpower not to thrust his hands under her skirts.

"Yes... too much, actually. We should stop before I..." she breathed, closing her eyes momentarily as if to gather self-control.

"Before what?" he felt obliged to ask.

"Before I demand to have you right here", said the Princess and took a deep breath. "And we both know how that will end."

"Marry me", he blurted out. She did not answer that, not with words at least; Lothíriel gave him a small smile and one more kiss, which was very chaste when compared to what they had just done.

"I think we should head back. It is very late", she said quietly. Well, she was right, and so Éomer didn't protest when she rose up from his lap. He watched her for a moment and considered telling her that he'd do anything for her, but then decided that was a topic for another conversation.

They climbed up on their feet and he picked up his cloak, shaking it to get rid of sand. He looked at her, "Are you cold?"

"No, I'm fine", said the Princess. Then she gave him a mischievous smile, "I don't think it's physically possible to be cold after being kissed so thoroughly by you."

He grinned at that and hung the cloak on his own shoulders. Then he called Firefoot; the animal had wandered off but came galloping at its master's call. Like before, he helped the princess into saddle, and then mounted the horse too. She leant back on him this time and Éomer held her close, and once more they were flying over the white and blue shores of Dor-en-Ernil, as if in a dream of spring.

* * *

**A/N: **Well, a riding trip was promised, wasn't it? :D

I must say, this beast of a story has completely beyond my control. At first, when I started to extend it, I planned for max 10 chapters, but as I explore this particular version of how Éomer met Lothíriel, more and more things come out and I just can't stop. In fact, last night I got such an inspiration that I wrote three hours straight and afterwards felt ridiculously pleased with what I had come up with. Forewarning: lutes are involved, and Éothain aids his king in battle again.

Thanks for the comments and reviews!

* * *

The Old English words should be about right, and I hope that the word combination "sæides" is not wrong either. However, if any of you readers have knowledge of Old English and see a mistake somewhere, I'd appreciate it if you could point it out for me!

_sæ = _sea_  
ides_ =woman, lady  
_léoflic = _beautiful

* * *

**Talia119 - **That is something that will be explored in future... perhaps sooner than you think. But I'd say that Lothíriel vacillating between confidence and uncertainty also is partly because of Éomer himself. He confuses her more than she lets out and often her boldness towards him is a reaction to that. And you're definitely right: Éomer's straightforwardness plays a part in this too. Nothing wrong with analyzing it, though! :)


	11. Chapter 11

This was just his luck.

Or perhaps he should have known that something like this would happen. Everything had been going so well that really, there was no way it could last. Surely somewhere Béma was laughing to his beard and making a mockery of him: foolish little king and his infatuation with the lovely princess...

One moment, he had been waiting for Lothíriel in the gardens to accompany her on their daily stroll before lunch. Prince Elphir, who had returned from Minas Tirith only yesterday, had been there conversing him when _that girl _had appeared and asked to speak with the young king. He should probably have seen it coming, especially when she made him sit beside her on a stone bench of marble.

He had thought Lady Glosswen and her father had already returned to Lebennin, but at his surprise she had merely chimed that they were still staying in the city because of some business. Éomer had tried to excuse himself and throw some distressed looks at Elphir in the hopes of the prince interfering, but things had quickly gotten from bad to worse. As a matter of fact, in the light of the whole fiasco, he barely even remembered what had happened before the girl had practically thrown herself in his arms and plastered her mouth all over his.

And of course that was the moment when Lothíriel arrived, and Éomer would never forget her look of shock and heartbreak on her face. Then, before he had been able to push the insufferable lady from his lap and call for the princess, she had already run away. He had practically tossed Lady Glosswen into a flowerbed and never stopped to ask whether the girl was all right – in fact, that was the furthest thing from his mind – but raced after the princess.

However, she would not open her door when he demanded to see her. Instead, a voice of a woman shouted from inside that he would do well if he went and tossed himself into the sea. He briefly considered climbing up to her window again, but he quickly came to the conclusion that would only ever make her empty her chamberpot on his head. She wouldn't come down for the dinner either, which of course made Imrahil worry if the girl was sick. Then some time after that, Amrothos and Erchirion approached the young king looking like they were actually going to feed him to the fish, and it was only with Elphir's intervention that a violent confrontation was prevented.

Elphir said the princess wouldn't even listen to him when he had gone and told her the truth of what had happened.

It was clear that she would not listen talk, whatever her reasons for that were, and Éomer realised different kind of approach was needed this time.

Technically speaking, it was Éothain's night off. And the man rarely had those these days, as he seemed to think no one was as qualified in guarding the King of Rohan as he was. Éomer knew he'd have to repay the captain later for what he was about to make his friend do, but the undeniable truth was that Éothain was one of the best lutists he knew, and that included his own court musicians back in Edoras. Not to mention only Éothain was mad enough to comply.

In love and war, every move was a matter of life and death.

His other preparations were mostly done when he went to seek Éothain, whom he soon found back at the barracks, where the man was enjoying a cup of wine and sharing war stories and jest with other warriors – he had made quite a few friends during their stays in Gondor. The noise in the common room where the knights gathered was loud, but Éomer had not been a Marshal and a leader on a battlefield for nothing.

"ÉOTHAIN!" he bellowed from the door – he may have exaggerated his voice a bit – and a total silence fell over the hall. Somewhere, a glass dropped.

"My lord", said the captain as he rose up on his feet and looked completely unabashed and evidently ignorant of all the staring eyes, "shall I muster the Rohirrim?"

"That remains to be seen. Hurry up and finish your wine. We have urgent business", Éomer told his captain, who drank the rest of his drink in one mighty gulp, told his friends they'd continue later, and strode over to the door where his king waited. As they exited, chatter slowly started to rise again.

"Well? What is it?" Éothain inquired. "Is something wrong?"

"You could say that", Éomer answered somewhat grimly and took the lute from behind his back. Amrothos had found it for him, but the prince's sneaky looks had implied he may have stolen it. But that could be dealt with later.

Éothain looked at the lute with incredulous eyes.

"You came to disrupt my free night because you want me to play for you?" he asked in disbelief.

"You certainly do have to play, my good captain, but not for _me. _A woman scorned needs to be wooed, and playing the lute is not a task I'd trust with any other man in the Mark", said the King. That made Éothain grin.

"Oh, I see", he answered, already in this little plan. After all, he was a man of Rohan. He didn't need to be explained the power of song, nor the importance of singing for maidens. "I think she will be completely and thoroughly wooed once she hears you sing, because none of these Gondorian ladies seem to really be prepared for the lovely voices of singing men of the Mark. What do you need me to play?"

"Do you remember the tune for the song they call 'Greensleeves'?" Éomer asked.

"Of course I do. My Scýne back home loves that song – she often makes me play it for her. I could play that song forwards and backwards and even from top to bottom", said the captain.

"Stop bragging, Éothain. It's not _me_ you need to impress, but the lady in question", said the King.

"It's a Rohirric song, if I may point out. She won't understand a word", Éothain said then.

"No worries – I've translated the verses I intend to sing. It took a moment to make it work, but I'm rather pleased with the result. Now follow me", the King ordered, and the two of them started for the garden.

Lamps had been Erchirion's invention. They were delicate little things that had been easy enough to bring to the garden, and once they started to lit them up, it looked like golden stars had fallen there down from the skies; Éomer just hoped Lothíriel would not look out from her window too soon and see the lights outside. At least her window remained dark as he and Éothain lit the lamps and the dark garden filled with light. The flower garland made the captain snigger of course, but only until he was presented with one too.

"Shut it, captain. She likes flowers and so it is flowers we must wear. At least I didn't make you dress as an elf", Éomer told his grumbling second in command. Éothain looked shocked at the mere idea.

Finally, everything was in place (Éomer had thought of doing this on horseback, but bringing Firefoot into the garden wouldn't have been so easy, not to mention the gardeners would no doubt have murdered him for trampling over their hard work). The two Rohirs glanced at each other and Éomer cleared his throat. He wasn't even sure when had been the last time he had sung properly. Then Éothain ran his fingers over the strings of his lute and began playing the soft tune. And Éomer sang:

"_Alas, my love, you do me wrong,  
to cast me off discourteously  
For I have loved you well and long  
Delighting in your company_

_Bluesleeves was all my joy  
Bluesleeves was my delight,  
Bluesleeves was my heart of gold,  
And who but my Lady Bluesleeves",_ he sang and let his voice soar. He had a strong voice, and some had said it had this soft and deep quality that was pleasant to listen to. Soon, a light appeared in the princess' window and a pale face appeared... and then another, the one he had been hoping for. He fixed his eyes on that face, wishing he could have seen her eyes... and that she was looking at him and seeing the honesty on his face.

The song itself was perhaps too long to be sung here in its entirety, so he left out some verses; he did, however, include parts about being "a lover in captivity", and that she might "see his constancy". Also, though the song originally spoke of "Greensleeves", it made more sense to sing of lady in blue, as that was her preferred colour.

He just hoped this would not start yet another blasted fashion of amorous men yodeling under their lady loves' windows about "bluesleeves".

The two faces in the window did not disappear, not even when they realised who precisely was serenading there: in fact, they even opened the window to hear better. Éomer let just faintest misery and despair enter his voice, but also kept some faith there which he let swell with every chorus, and finally he came to the final verse:

"_Ah, Bluesleeves, now farewell, adieu,  
To __Powers__ I pray to prosper thee,  
For I am still thy lover true,  
Come once again and love me",_ he finished the song, and Éothain too brought the tune to an end. Only then did the King of Rohan notice that many more windows had lit up during the song... an astonished silence hung over the garden for one moment until suddenly, someone started to clap. That gesture was soon imitated by others, and then it seemed like the majority of palace of Dol Amroth was applauding at this late night serenade.

The two Rohirs stood silently, gazing up at all the faces that were staring down at them in various states of amusement and bewilderment. Then they shared a glance, and Éothain laughed weakly.

"By Béma's beard, my lord, we are going to hear about this for a very, very long time."

"I know, Éothain. I know", sighed his poor love-sick king.

* * *

The song had already ended, but the princess was still sat at the windowsill, staring down into the garden where the two men were putting out lights and gathering their lanterns. Her tears long since dried, there was now a pensive look on her face.

"It's late already. You should go to bed", said Aredhel quietly. The older woman had been staying with her for the most of the day (which was most selfish of her, Lothíriel felt, as her sister-in-law had only just returned to Dol Amroth) and was now looking rather tired.

"I think I'll sit for a while still. You can go if you want to. You _should _go, because you look exhausted. Elphir is probably missing you anyway", Lothíriel said softly. Aredhel gave her a concerned look, at which she smiled. "It's all right. I think I'm fine now. I just..."

Then she fell silent and looked once again down. It was dark now, but she could still spot the tall man in the dark garden.

Aredhel came to her side and lay a hand on her shoulder.

"If you ask me, no man sings to a woman like that unless they're sincere... unless he loves her. They're honest, his people. And your brother wouldn't lie to you for the sake of any king of this world", said the older of the two.

"Mmm", was all that Lothíriel could muster.

"I think you can trust in this one, sister", Aredhel said softly. "Well, good night then. I'll see you in the morning."

"Good night", Lothíriel answered absent-mindedly. Her sister-in-law patted her shoulder, and then Aredhel left to catch some much needed sleep.

As for the Princess of Dol Amroth, she sat by her window late to the early hours.

_Come once again and love me... _

* * *

**A/N: **Well. I must confess I enjoyed writing this one much more than I should have. :D We have seen flowers and midnight rides, so a serenade was in order of course. It is Valentine's Day, after all. _Greensleeves _is a favourite song of mine, and it seemed like a perfect piece to use here. It's a real song, by the way; it's a traditional English folk song and you can find more about it by googling. Complete lyrics are also to be found online. I changed Greensleeves to Bluesleeves for the obvious reasons, but I still think that sounds very nice.

You're probably wondering why Lothíriel would react so strongly, and I promise that will be explored sooner or later. It is an out of proportion reaction nevertheless, but people don't always act wisely when they're hurt. Let's just say for now that she's scared of trusting Éomer and she has her reasons for that.

I'm going away for the weekend and it looks like I'm not going to have an internet access, so there won't be any updates to my stories before Monday or Tuesday. Hopefully this will keep you occupied until then! And as always, thanks for the comments! :)

* * *

**Talia119 - **Lothíriel not having a really good horse is probably a mixture of overprotective father and that there simply isn't too many horses available, or at least not the kind Imrahil would approve of. I don't think Lothíriel really is a bad rider - in fact, I have a feeling Amrothos and Erchirion probably have let her borrow their horses every now and then. Which has done nothing to ease her frustration, really.


	12. Chapter 12

The sun was rising when she came.

Wind from the sea, salty and brisk, tousled her hair and caught at the hems of her skirts. The light blue garment painted the shape of her body against the golden light of dawn as she walked, and quietly he watched her, his heart swelling and trembling at the sight of her.

_She had come. _It could only mean that she was still willing to give him a chance.

Quietly, he put down the piece of wood he had been carving while waiting for her, and stood up from the rock he had used as a seat. But at the sight of her expression, Éomer fell back to sit down again; he looked at her and hoped that his face showed how sorry he was... how ashamed he was for letting it happen.

Lothíriel looked down at him, and her face was serious as she searched his eyes. After a moment of silence had gone by, he gently took one of her hands and pressed softest of kisses on the back of her fingers. _Small, soft hand, so very well-fitting in his own... _like it had been made for him... _no, _it was the other way around: like _his _hand had been made for _her. _

She looked at him and there was a question in those storm-grey eyes, capturing him where he sat. Éomer was not one to hide his feelings, and so he wondered: was it not obvious to her? Did she not see how he adored her – how he could see no other woman than her?

"Trust me", he told her gently. She seemed hesitant and she briefly bit her lip, and he gave her hand a gentle squeeze that he hoped was consoling.

"You meant what you sang?" she asked.

"Every word, my Lady Bluesleeves", he answered plainly. "I meant them then. I mean them now. And I will mean them each day and each night as long as I live."

He thought he saw tears in her eyes, but he couldn't tell for sure, because she suddenly fell down on her knees by him and lay her head on his thigh, and her long hair cascaded over his lap. At first, Éomer did not dare move, like that could have scared her away. Then after a moment he relaxed and lay a hand on her head. His touch turned into a caress and he wove his fingers through her silky stresses.

It was a whisper when he spoke, so quiet that she did not hear him at first. Then he said it again, just for the sound of those words he had never told anyone before now, not like this.

This time, she heard him. Lothíriel lifted her eyes and indeed, it looked like she was crying. But she didn't seem unhappy.

"What did you say?" she asked.

"Ic lufie þē", said the King of Rohan. Her eyes remained confused, but he had not expected her to understand his language. So when he spoke again, it was in Westron; in that tongue, it did not feel the same to speak those three words... but it was her he was telling them, and so it did not really matter which speech he used. For in all languages of elves, dwarves and men, it was still true.

"_I love you." _

* * *

"You know, Father, I think it's a high time for you to start to think about the marriage contracts and dowry for Lothíriel", said Elphir that morning as he and his father made their way towards the study, where they'd meet with several noblemen and the King of Rohan.

"How so?" Imrahil asked. Well, it wasn't really that odd that Father wouldn't notice, Elphir decided. After all, the Prince seemed to have become ignorant of Lothíriel's ageing ever since her 13th birthday. Imrahil didn't really see his daughter as a woman yet, though she definitely was one already, and so what was happening under his very nose did not really even occur to him.

"Father, it's obvious that Éomer has set his eyes on her and vice versa. And Erchirion tells me that the air has been hissing with electricity between the two of them ever since she returned from Lossarnarch. Haven't you heard already about how our king serenaded her the other night? If you ask me, it'd be wise to get the formalities done before you find golden-haired children running about the palace and calling you 'Grandfather'", Elphir said dryly. His choice of words made his father wince.

"She wouldn't do that to her poor old father", Imrahil said and shook his head.

"Oh, I think she would, if they're kept waiting", Elphir said and smiled. "You know Lothíriel as well as I do, Father."

"Hmm. Perhaps you're right, son", agreed the Prince, though he looked thoughtful still. "Still, I must wonder. Éomer, of all people?"

"It is actually kind of obvious, when you think about it", said his son and a helpless little smile passed on his face. "He's probably the only man who's ever going to bear her, hmm, spirited ways. In fact, I think he'll love her all the more because of it."

That made Imrahil look just slightly worried.

"... I really should think about that dowry, shouldn't I?"

And just like Elphir could have told his father, after the meeting Éomer King of Rohan did approach Prince Imrahil to ask for the hand of Lothíriel in marriage.

Not that Imrahil was opposed to the idea, but he gave his consent just for the fact that the King's expression implied he might behead the Prince if he said no.

* * *

**A/N: **I know this chapter is very short, but the minimalistic approach seemed to suit it the best, and when I tried to write more, all of it just spoiled the atmosphere. So in the end I decided to post it as it was, even if it's short. The next chapter will be longer, however (once I get it done, which might take a while with all the deadlines that are falling on me currently).

Anyway, I hope you liked it, and thanks for reading!


	13. Chapter 13

She heard captain Éothain's singing already before she entered the stables. As the song was in Rohirric, Lothíriel could not tell what it was the man was singing about, but it sounded rather merry at least. The captain had a pleasant voice, a bit higher than that of his king's; truly, it did not seem to be a lie when people said that the Rohirrim were excellent singers.

She knew the King was already growing weary of all the remarks of what a beautiful singing voice he had. They were true though, and she had plans of making him sing for her many, many times more.

Éothain was looking after his horse – a large chestnut stallion with this look in his eyes that he was about to bite off your nose. But to his master the horse showed every affection. _The Rohirrim and their horses. Mad bunch. _

"Ah, my lady!" called the captain as soon as he saw her. He bowed, "I am sorry I'm not entirely presentable at the moment, as I did not expect your company."

Indeed, the man was dressed in plain-looking coat and breeches, and his hair was something of a mess, but his round face was friendly and smiling. He was someone who was easily befriended, but she had also heard her brothers complaining about the nasty bruises Éothain had given to them in the training fields. Well, the man had survived the great battles of War of the Ring, just like his king.

"It is no matter, captain", she said quickly, offering a smile to the man. "I'd just like to talk of something with you."

"That would be my pleasure, my lady. Let me just finish up here, and get changed into something that doesn't smell of horses. Would that suit you, Princess?" Éothain asked.

"Of course, captain", Lothíriel agreed, making a mental note of having to reprimand anyone who ever told her that the Rohirrim were discourteous. "I will meet you in the garden in an hour, yes?"

"As you wish, my lady!"

And, just as agreed, Éothain was waiting for the princess in the gardens, dressed in green and brown and looking like someone who was about to be introduced to Manwë himself. He smiled and bowed at the sight of the princess, who nodded her head. She placed a hand on his arm, which felt sturdy as rock under her fingers. In fact, though Éothain was shorter than his King (well, most men were), he was of stouter build. One of her handmaidens closely followed, but kept the distance so that there was a sense of privacy at least.

"Now, my lady, what was it you wished to speak of with me?" asked the captain then, watching her from the corner of his eye.

"I was just wondering about... the customs of the Rohirrim when it comes to courtship and marriage", she said at last. If that surprised the Rohir, it didn't show. Rather, he grinned and she realised the man probably already knew about what was going on with his king. Come to think of it, Lothíriel was fairly sure it had been none other than Éothain who had assisted Éomer in serenading the other night. She'd have to remember that, as the captain was not a bad lutist at all. One never knew when a lutist was needed.

"What precisely would you like to know, my lady?" he asked.

"Just... I'd like to know if there's something that might surprise me. And what I should expect", she said at length. Lothíriel knew she'd have felt more comfortable talking about this with another woman, but as no Rohirric lady was available at the moment, she'd have to confine with Éothain. Of course, she could always have sent for Éowyn or go visit the White Lady of Rohan, but that would have taken too much time.

"Hmm. I'm a man of Rohan, so what could be surprising to you would probably seem perfectly ordinary to me", Éothain mused. "But I don't think you should be worried. We respect our women and wish to make them feel secure with us. It's a matter of honour for a man to be able to protect and take care of his lady."

Well, it wasn't like she really doubted that. She was starting to understand that she really _could _trust Éomer. It was just... he was so foreign sometimes. So straightforward, so honest. She wasn't used to that.

"And what of the courtship?" she asked after mulling over Éothain's words for a moment.

"It's... well, there's not really fixed customs or rules that everyone must follow. Each couple pretty much make up their own rules. And the courtship is usually shorter than what I hear it is here in Gondor, but a man who has set his eyes on a woman... well, I think he's willing to wait for her."

It was not lost to Lothíriel what Éothain meant. She worried her lip absent-mindedly and cast a quick look at the captain. He was loyal to his king, but he was an honest man. That was what they always said about the Rohirrim... and she didn't think Éomer would expect anything less from his second in command.

"There should be gifts, I think – I believe you should expect to receive a horse some time soon. That is something the Rohirric men take much pride in. And I should warn you that our people are very fond of amorous encounters in secrecy. It's nothing to be worried about, though. He will know to keep his distance, if you signal him that you are not comfortable", Éothain explained. Then he let out a small chuckle, "It is told that in the days before Eorl the Young, it was customary for the bridegroom to try and steal the lady of his heart. That was great amusement for every participant, especially the fathers who tried to prevent the enthusiastic youth from such antics. Many a marriage took place before the actual celebrations when the stealer and their sweetheart got too excited."

"I shouldn't expect abduction, then?" Lothíriel asked, smiling to herself as she imagined the King of Rohan tying her up in a saddle and speeding back north with her. Éothain laughed.

"Sadly, no. We might have thick skulls sometimes but no man of Rohan would be foolish enough to try and steal a Gondorian princess", said the captain, grinning widely, "not even some dolts of Rohirs I could name."

"How disappointing. I was already looking forward to a proper Rohirric abduction", she commented, which made the captain chuckle. From that, conversation moved back to the usual customs of courtship and marriage, giving interesting insights to the culture of horselods. That conversation kept them occupied until Éothain had to excuse himself and go to attend to his King. However, Lothíriel found herself thinking of one particularly thing. _A proper Rohirric abduction... _

That instantly had her mind running with ideas. _Good ideas, _though Father would most likely kill her if he knew. But that didn't matter. There was a King to make up with and a proposal to be answered, and now she knew exactly what was needed.

Lothíriel, already planning fast, joined her brother Amrothos, who was lounging on a divan in a white stone gazebo. There were several scrolls on his chest and even more crumbled into balls on the floor, and he was thoughtfully sucking at the end of his quill. He had been composing bad poetry again – a dear hobby of his, though he was the first person to agree that he was no great bard.

"You should try and be careful with that ink. You know how much the washers hate the ink stains", she commented as she settled across him. She had lost the count of how many shirts and bedsheets her brother had ruined with ink.

"Of course, of course. But for my art, one has to make little sacrifices", he said loftily and scribbled down something.

Lothíriel rolled her eyes and refrained from pointing out his poetry was hardly worth all the ink stains.

"Where have you hidden that king of yours? The two of you seem to be more or less attached from hip these days", Amrothos said, not looking up from his notes.

"He had some business with couple of lords from south", she answered. Then she sighed. "He'll be leaving soon, though – he said his people might send an éored to fetch him back otherwise."

"Sounds like something they'd do", Amrothos sniggered, but looked at her with a more serious face then. "You'll miss him, won't you?"

"... yes. Yes, I will", she said quietly.

"Then stop hesitating already and say yes, so everyone could finally get to tease you in stupid ways and also get to plan that wedding thing", he said, which made her pick up a ball of paper and throw it at him.

"That's none of your business, brother. I know all you're interested in is meeting Rohirric girls, and I don't have to marry anyone for you to be able to do that", she informed him, which made Amrothos laugh again.

"Oh, stop it already. You hide it well but I know you like the man", he said smugly, settling back on his seat. She snorted and fell momentarily silent.

"Brother, how much do you love me?" she asked her brother thoughtfully. He looked up from his scrolls and gave her a sweet smile.

"You know that we all adore you, sister", he told her, his voice light.

"Do you adore me enough to assist me in some mischief that could bring Father's wrath down on us all?" asked the Princess, and her question made his eyes lit up with excitement. One could always count on Amrothos in a matter like this.

"Of course, Lothíriel. I'm always up for some mischief, as you very well know", he answered and sat up straighter. "What do you have in mind?"

Her eyes sparkled as she spoke: "A proper Gondorian abduction. I am going to steal Éomer King."

* * *

**A/N: ***sniggers to self and backflips to the sun* This... was not how this was supposed to go. But now it goes like this anyway. The story took a bit different turn at this originally, but when I started to write it, it just didn't work. And so I leave you with this. Inspiration and credit for it goes to Lialathuveril's most amusing "The Abduction of Éomer, King of Rohan", which I heartily recommend to anyone in a need of a light and entertaining read.

Thanks for the comments, my good readers!


	14. Chapter 14

As Éomer had expected, Imrahil insisted on organising a farewell party for the King of Rohan the day before he'd depart for Rohan. He had been on the road for some weeks now and Éothain's nagging was really starting to get kind of frustrating. Not to mention he felt he had caused quite enough commotion in Dol Amroth already, and those comments on what a beautiful singing voice he had were really getting exhausting.

What he had not expected was that the farewell party would take place _on a ship. _

Apparently, no self-respecting noble house by the sea could live without a proper yacht – a sea vessel that was not designed for wars or speed, but rather for short excursions made simply for pleasure and entertainment. And what was a better place for a farewell party than a ship on a sea?Always trust Gondorians to come up with madness like that. But then, if that was what Imrahil wanted, then he'd get it, and Éomer would play the well-behaved king. After all, the Prince _had _given his consent, and the King did not want to give the older man any reason to think maybe that had been a poor decision.

That didn't mean he wasn't concerned about some things, though. When he voiced his concern whether the farewell party would be as grand as the ball had been, Imrahil had lifted his hand calmingly.

"Oh, not at all. I believe I'll be able to cut the amount of guests to half, and there won't be any dancing this time", said the Prince. He smiled, "and I should also think it would be a good occasion for you to make the happy announcement, or what do you say?"

_Happy announcement indeed, _Éomer thought to himself, _if there was anything to announce. _

When he had gone to talk with Imrahil about the possibility of marriage between him and Lothíriel, the Prince had seemed to immediately assume Lothíriel had already given her consent. But that was not the case: she had yet to say _yes. _In Imrahil's eyes, the matter was already more or less settled, and Éomer wasn't sure how to explain the situation to his friend. On the other hand, he'd never pressure her about it. If he needed to wait, then that was what he would do, for she was a woman worth waiting for all the lifetimes of men.

The day itself was warm and beautiful, and the breeze in the air was gentle. At that, Erchirion gave Éomer what he probably thought of as a reassuring smile.

"Have no fear, my friend. This means easy and calm sailing", he said. Well, that did console him somewhat, to be honest. Hopefully he wouldn't have to start retching the moment they stepped on board.

"I'm not scared of the sea", he told the prince, who looked at him with wide eyes and eagerly nodded.

"Of course not, my lord. That is a completely absurd suggestion", Erchirion agreed. Though Éomer did not continue that conversation, he did entertain the idea of tossing the prince over the railing once they were in the ship.

"And anyway, we won't really get to the sea. It's not a speedy ship we're taking, so we'll get about as far as the bay", said the prince, which made Éomer frown.

"But what's the point of it, then?" he asked, "Why not have the party here?"

Erchirion rolled his eyes.

"I don't think you'd ever understand, you landlubber", he said with mock disapproval. The King snorted.

"And I don't think I want to", he said, which made his friend laugh.

It was late afternoon when they rode down to the harbour. Apparently it took some time to get the yacht to the bay, and the Princess said they should be there by sunset at the latest because "views were better from there".

"Views? What views?" Éomer had asked, but that just made her smile mysteriously.

"You'll see, my good king", she had answered and patted his arm. "It wouldn't be a surprise if I told you beforehand, would it?"

"I hope it doesn't include me drowning", he had grumbled. Lothíriel had let out a small laugh and promised to dive after him if he fell from the deck. He did not tell her that for that reason, he might even consider jumping into the water.

They set from the palace towards the harbour some time after noon; most of the other guests were apparently boarding already, and after the Prince and his company had arrived, the ship would set sail.

"Lothíriel, where is your brother? I haven't seen Amrothos since the breakfast", asked Imrahil as they made their way down to the harbour.

"Oh, he was feeling ill. He said he wouldn't come, because he didn't want to offend our guests' eyes by hanging over the railing and emptying his guts", said the Princess with something of a haste.

"Hmm. One can always trust on Amrothos to come up with something like that when he is needed", Imrahil sighed half to himself, but Éomer didn't hear rest of his observations considering his family, for the young king's attention was now engaged by the... _thing _in the harbour.

Well, it _was _a ship, though it reminded him more of a giant swan than an actual boat, but he was fairly sure he shouldn't voice out his notions – elsewise, some old pirate would no doubt come and murder him in his bed. The ship was made of light wood, and though it's build was graceful, it looked to him like it had been specifically designed for occasions just as this, with spacious decks to feast and stroll on. Obviously it was not made for long trips, for which he was glad: if they stayed close enough to coast, he'd be able to swim back to the shore at least. But hopefully the party would not come to that. For the occasion, on the masts and railings there were decorations such as flowers and colourful ribbons and it all seemed a bit too much, but Éomer never commented on it.

"Well? What do you think, my lord?" Lothíriel asked as once they were down in the harbour and ready to embark. The harbour itself was suddenly full of bustle; most of the guests were already waiting for them on the deck, but the Prince's company and his royal guest made quite a crowd too. Éothain and several of his guards had come too. His captain would accompany him to the cruise, but other Rohirs would stay behind to look after their horses.

"It's... a ship, my lady. I know as little of them as you probably know of cavalry tactics", he said carefully, hoping that she wasn't passionately protective of the art of sea-faring. Fortunately, she just laughed at his words.

"Don't worry, my lord. I'll not let you drown", she promised.

"That comforts me very much, Princess. I place my life in your hands", he said gravely, and she smiled.

"And I promise I will take good care of it, Sire", she told him, and they started to make their way for the ship.

Éomer did not feel particularly good when they boarded the ship. Though the vessel was steady, he found it difficult not to think of all that unpredictable water just under the wooden structure of the ship. As he cast a look at his captain, he could see that Éothain was equally uncomfortable about it. The two of them shared a glance of suffering, but suddenly Éothain's face turned surprised, and then into a grin. He nodded towards the crowd of guests. Éomer cast a look about and he had to bite his tongue not to chuckle out loud, as it appeared like Lothíriel's prediction had been quite correct. All the male guests of the crowd were wearing flowers in their hair.

If he got through this celebration without bursting because laughter held back for too long, it'd be a miracle.

Soon his discomfort started to fade, eased by his humorous observations of current hair fashion in Dol Amroth and a couple glasses of wine, and soon he took note that the ship was already slowly gliding out to the bay. It's movement was so gentle that he barely noticed anything. Éomer had feared maybe his stomach would not stand the voyage, but that was apparently a needless concern.

The celebration itself was not too bad either. For one, it was far less formal than the ball had been. A small band of Imrahil's court musicians played some light music, drinks were served and even some food (if you could call those strange little arrangements _food – _at least for Éothain, they only ever served to make him more hungry_)._ When the light of day started to wane, lanterns were lit, and Éomer imagined the ship must have glowed with golden light. To himself he thought it was not too bad at all, but he didn't tell the Princess or her brothers _that. _Eventually the ship was anchored seeing distance from the city of Dol Amroth, which he liked; he would not have wanted to lose the sight of land.

It was then that the small boat was seen speeding towards the swan ship, it's dark blue sails pillowing in the wind. It came from the direction of the city, which of course alarmed Imrahil. Éomer noticed the frown on his friend's brow and he went to stand beside the Prince by the railing.

"Is something amiss?" asked the young king.

"That is what I'm wondering. I do not think anyone would sail after us if there was not something wrong in the city", Imrahil said quietly. Éomer squinted his eyes to see who was sailing towards the royal yacht, and not before long he spotted the grinning face of Amrothos. The prince certainly did not seem to be feeling ill anymore. At first he wondered how a member of the royal house could handle a boat with such ease... but then he realised asking such a question was probably about as absurd as if one had asked why the members of House of Eorl were skilled in horsemanship. He was instantly happy for not voicing his thoughts.

"It is your youngest son, Imrahil", said the King. A bemused look came to the face of his friend.

"Amrothos? I thought he was ill", Imrahil wondered. "Well, I'm sure we'll hear soon enough what this is about..."

The prince steered his boat next to the royal yacht and the guests on board gathered about the railing to see better. Éomer of course had no knowledge of how the little boat was called, but he took note that it had one sail but also oars. He thought two people might be able to sail that boat together, but three would have been too much.

A ladder of rope was thrown down as soon as Amrothos had made sure the boat was securely tied to the swan ship, and he climbed up aboard. Imrahil was there waiting for him, and the two instantly proceeded into a fast conversation in Sindarin. Éomer knew some of that language, as his late uncle had wanted to give him and his sister as good an education as it was possible in their circumstances. But Imrahil and Amrothos' conversation was too fast for him to follow.

"Don't look so tense, Sire. Nothing's wrong – my brother just decided he wasn't sick after all and came to join us", said Lothíriel as she appeared as if from nowhere to his side. The last he had seen her, she had been talking with some noble ladies whose names he could not remember.

"Hmm. I was already wondering whether I would have to muster the Rohirrim", Éomer half-muttered. "Your brother is very erratic."

That made her giggle.

"I suppose he is. Usually, entertaining things follow because of it", she said and there was a sparkle of mischief in her grey eyes. As if he had heard his sister saying that, Amrothos cast a grin towards their direction; he was still talking with Imrahil, who wore a slightly exasperated face now. Lothíriel snorted, "but as you can very well see, Father is rarely impressed."

"It's truly a life of adventure to be a father to the lot of you", Éomer commented, at which she laughed and grabbed his arm in a way one could have called affectionate.

"Doesn't that make you scared? Or at least hesitate about the idea of marrying me? You see, our children could be just as hopeless", she pointed out, but if anything, he was just thrilled that she'd even entertain that idea. _Our children. _That made him feel strangely weak.

"Dearest Princess, at this point you could reveal that you actually have two heads and I would not care", he told her in a low voice that only she heard, fighting a sudden urge to kiss her right there in the front of Gondorian nobility and Imrahil himself. She fell silent and looked up at him, her face turning serious.

"You truly mean that?" she asked softly.

"Of course I do. You need to learn to trust me, min sæides", he said, equally grave. Then he smiled at her, "So, you admit that you are hopeless?"

Lothíriel rolled her eyes and punched his arm.

"Oh, you have no idea, O Lord of the Mark", she said. He laughed and considered telling her again he loved her, but he had a feeling she could already read it from his eyes.

The commotion about Amrothos' arrival died gradually and the guests returned to the relaxed socialising. Lothíriel presented Éomer to a southern lord called Narwon, who entertained them with stories from his many travels to Southron lands. Despite himself, the young king was enjoying himself to the point of forgetting the passage of time.

When the last rays of sun had disappeared, a bell was rung and the chatter and music died; Imrahil cleared his throat and beamed towards the throng of his noble guests.

"My good friends! If I could have your attention for a moment, please", he called and then proceeded into a speech of thanking Éomer for his visit (almost making it sound like he had bestowed some divine grace by being a guest to the Prince's family), extensively wishing him a safe journey back and making it more than clear that he was always welcome in the city. After commending what a great time it had been, Imrahil momentarily fell silent with this meaningful look on his face, and it took Éomer a moment to realise it meant his friend was hoping he might step in and announce his betrothal to the princess. But the King only gave Imrahil a weak little smile and hoped to Béma that there would not be a conversation about this later on.

The Prince seemed to get the hint anyway, and he concluded his speech finally, and the crowd gave him an enthusiastic applaud.

"Now, if I could ask you to move over to the right side of the ship? To my great pride and joy, we are about to witness something previously unseen on these shores. My good people, it is time for fireworks!" he announced, which immediately brought about excited chatter and people quickly moved over to the right side of the boat to claim the best spots. Even servants and the crew of the ship seemed enthusiastic to see the show of lights. In the bustle that took place, Lothíriel grabbed for Éomer's arm, and he turned to look at her. The Princess' eyes were very bright.

"Sire, would you like a better view? And with less crowd swarming about you?" Lothíriel asked. It wasn't a question he had to think about much. To see the fireworks with her was very tempting idea; he had heard of Gandalf the White's famous fireworks but had never seen them himself, and it was an experience he'd very much like to share with Lothíriel.

"Gladly, my Princess", he answered, and instantly a grin appeared on her face.

"Follow me, Lion", she urged, striding fast to the other side of the deck and then around the cabin. He followed her, growing curious as to where she thought they'd get a better view. He wondered whether he should notify Éothain, who was loudly laughing at something Amrothos had said, but the captain would probably just make a fuss of it. As everyone had gathered to the railing side that faced the land, no one was there to see the two of them, nor to take note of Princess of Dol Amroth climbing the rope ladder down to the ship Amrothos had sailed.

"Princess, what are you doing?" Éomer asked as soon as he saw what she was doing.

"Better views, my lord. But to get to them, we'll have to take a boat", she said with a smile, staring up at him from halfway down the ladder. "Come now. Where is your sense of adventure?"

He was still doubtful.

"You expect me to get down _there? _You know how I feel about boats", he reminded her.

"I do. But I also promised I wouldn't let you drown. Now, get climbing, or I'll go alone", Lothíriel said and continued descending. Well, that did it. He really couldn't let her go alone, could he? Some smuggler or a pirate could try and kidnap her. So, even as his feet slightly trembled, he flung his feet over the edge of railing, turned and started climbing down. Truth be told, he had never felt as nervous while climbing as he now did, but he did his best not to think of all the masses of water just below him.

"Hurry up, Sire! They're just about to start, and we need to get some distance between us and the ship", the Princess urged from below.

He growled something unintelligible as a response, and then at last the rope ladder ended... gingerly, he lowered one foot and then the next, and he felt the gently swaying little ship under his feet. It was a good thing his sense of balance was steady, for otherwise he was fairly sure he'd have gone flying to the sea head first.

"Now, sit down. We don't want you toppling the boat", she ordered, and Éomer eagerly complied, settling down on the seat at the end of the ship. He wasnt so sure how he'd ever get up and he was already thinking this was _so bad idea. _But Lothíriel's face was serene as she nimbly moved about, sat by the oars, and started rowing. The sails were not spread, like when Amrothos had sailed the ship; but her strong pulls and pushes quickly took them away from the swan ship that basked in golden light.

"Wouldn't your father be worried if he knew?" asked the King after a moment. Without the lights of the ship, both of them were enfolded in the deep dark blue of night, but the moon and stars gave enough light for Lothíriel to see where she was going.

"Oh, probably yes. But this is not the first time I sit in a boat. I am actually very capable of sailing this vessel", she told him. "If we had the supplies, I could take you all the way to west coast of Eriador."

"Hmm. You don't have to take me that far to prove anything. And by the way, I should be rowing, not you", he noted, though he wasn't particularly willing to leave his sitting spot. That would have required him moving about in the boat, after all.

"Be quiet. You may be stronger than I am but I don't think you've ever rowed a boat before", she said.

"How far are we going? The fireworks should start any moment now", Éomer said then, casting a look towards the city that shone like a pillar of light in the night.

"I'd rather get a bit more distance between ourselves and the ship. Don't worry – we won't miss anything. The fireworks will start precisely when they are meant to", Lothíriel said and there was a smug little smile on her face, and that was the first moment he suspected anything. But he did not get a chance to ponder that, for suddenly she halted the boat and pulled in the oars. They were already from the shouting distance to the ship. "This should do."

"Have you seen fireworks before?" asked the King. She smiled and shook her head.

"I haven't, but Father has – long ago, when he was a child. He's been working on this quite a while now and he said it'd be a perfect way to fare you well. I've actually been looking forwards to this", she said, turning her eyes towards the city, looking as if trying to search for something. "Oh! There's the sign. They're just about to start."

She pointed towards the city, and soon he spotted the flashes of light from the high, probably from one of the towers of the royal palace. And then... it began

It was one light at first, like a small and lone shooting star speeding towards the heavens. Then it exploded into a ball of light, and more shooting stars followed. Soon the sky over Dol Amroth was full of flashing lights, of star bursts of all the colours of rainbow, and golden blasts that dissolved into nothingness after burning fast and bright. In awe, the King of Rohan and the Princess of Dol Amroth followed this show of light and colour, and her little gasps of wonder made him feel like he wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her for a long time until they both were breathless. Sometimes, she'd lift her arm and point at something and eagerly call: "Éomer! Look at that! Isn't it beautiful?"

Towards the end, it got to the point where the whole sky was shimmering and flashing, and she laughed out loud, until the last burst of gold finally faded and the night turned dark again.

_Well. That was certainly a show, _Éomer thought to himself and made a mental note of having to thank Imrahil for organising this. He turned towards the princess, expecting to see her in the oars again and to turn the vessel towards the swan ship. Granted, she had picked up the oars again and started to row... but she made no sign of even planning to turn the boat. Rather, the boat moved further and further away from the illuminated shape of the royal yacht.

"I am sure you have noticed that yourself, but your father's ship is not the way you are rowing", Éomer carefully pointed out, but his words just made her smile.

"Of course I know that, my dear King. I am a fairly capable at navigating, really", she answered serenely.

"Then why are you taking us the wrong direction?" he asked, feeling more suspicious by the second. Again Lothíriel smiled, and now she looked enormously self-satisfied. She even laughed.

"Why, it's because I am stealing you. This is an abduction, Éomer King, and you're now my hostage."

* * *

_My lord Imrahil,_

_As you have probably already noticed, I have abducted the King of Rohan. Do not try to find us, or you will never see him again. He belongs to me now and I have no intention of giving him back._

_Best regards,_  
_Pirate Queen Rhovancairiel_

_PS. Hahahahah!_

* * *

**A/N****:** Something tells me that Éomer is not an entirely unwilling hostage, not when the abduction is by Lothíriel. But his reaction will have to wait for now. :D

I know it's a bad joke I made at the very end, but to be honest I simply couldn't resist the temptation. "Rhovancairiel" should translate into something like "Lady of Wild Ship", though it is possible I derped with Sindarin there. I'd be glad to fix it, of course. Anyway, I imagine it's a nick name from Lothíriel's childhood - pretending to be pirates was something she and Amrothos did often - so Imrahil will know from this note left by Lothíriel that his daughter and Éomer are not in danger.

As always, thanks for reading and reviewing!


	15. Chapter 15

Well, what does a man say when a beautiful woman he has been wooing – and a princess of all people – kidnaps him? Éomer King of Rohan was not more witting than any other man in his position would have been. So, at first when she announced her intentions, he laughed. Then he stared at her and wondered if it was a joke. But she kept rowing and still wore that smug smile on her face, and he realised it was not jest at all. She really _was _abducting him. At that, he really couldn't do anything else than to laugh some more and think of how his friends would look like when they heard.

To the Void with all the disapproval and proper conduct of a king and whatever wrath Imrahil would have for him! Lothíriel was abducting him, and Éomer decided he was going to enjoy every minute of it. _Oh, he had to have her. _

"You should have seen your face just now, Lion. That alone is all the reward I need", Lothíriel said when Éomer was done chuckling and wiping tears of mirth from his eyes.

"Really, min sæides. You never stop amazing me, will you?" he asked as he sought a more comfortable position on his seat. He had all but forgotten about any discomfort when it came to the sea.

"Not if I can help it", she said cheerfully, but then she frowned slightly. "I did not think you would take this so well. I thought you'd demand me row back instantly or something like that."

"You actually thought that?" he asked in amusement. "Really, you kidnapping me is probably the only way you could make my stay here even better than it already was. Clearly we were meant for each other!"

"Now, let's not get ahead of ourselves. We still have to wrap up this abduction, Sire, and I suggest we concentrate on that for the moment", she commented. They were now gradually starting to get closer to the shore.

"Won't your father be gross with you, though?" Éomer asked.

"Probably, but I'll deal with that later. He'll know I'll take care of you", Lothíriel answered and did not seem too worried. Then, however, a slightly worried look came to her face, and she wondered out loud, "Do you think Éothain will be angry for me stealing you? He's your captain, after all."

"Oh, don't worry about him. I would imagine that Éothain is the one to enjoy the joke more than most", Éomer said lightly, chuckling quietly as he imagined the older man's reaction. "He told me before he likes you, but after this you don't really need any other recommendation in his eyes. Nor in the eyes of any of my riders."

"Why is that?" she asked, lifting her eyebrows.

"Let me just say that the Rohirrim appreciate a sense of humour", he answered, grinning to himself.

"I'm glad to hear that. He ought to appreciate this joke anyway, because he's the one who gave me the idea in the first place", Lothíriel said.

"Éothain? How come?" Éomer wanted to know.

"I asked him to tell me about Rohirric customs of wedding and marriage. Éothain said it was not so uncommon in old times for the men of your people to steal their lady loves", she said and smiled brightly. "And I thought to myself: why can't a woman steal a man if she wants to? And so you are here in my boat, and my hostage."

"Glad to be so, my Princess", he said, hoping this was a good sign. Really, a Gondorian princess could not just abduct a man if she did not have intentions towards him? But then, it _was _Lothíriel. She was the mermaid, after all, and so far his experiences would imply her manners were not those of an ordinary princess... or even a woman. "Why did you ask Éothain about marriage, by the way? I could have told you anything you wished to know."

"Of course. But I needed a second opinion from someone who can concentrate for five minutes without looking like he wants to kiss me senseless", Lothíriel said cheerfully.

"I thought you wanted me to kiss you senseless."

"Well, yes, but that's beside the point", she answered, sounding unconcerned.

"Hmph. If you continue that way, the roles in this abduction may yet be reversed", Éomer said and snorted.

"And ruin my perfect plan? Arrange your kidnappings on some other time and place, Sire, or I will drop you in the sea", Lothíriel said and gave him such an adorable pout that he wanted to do much more than just kiss her senseless. But he didn't tell her that.

It was not long after that they came to the shore. He helped her to pull the boat ashore so that it wouldn't float away. While she was securing the boat, he looked at her curiously and wondered out loud: "I thought you'd whisk me away in that boat of yours, all the way to West perhaps."

Lothíriel let out a small laugh.

"Oh, I would have done precisely that, but Father will probably have his ships looking for us in no time. Fast as this boat is, she's no match for some of the better vessels of the royal fleet", she said nonchalantly, sounding like she often planned abductions. "So we'll continue by land, and unless something has gone wrong, our horses should be nearby."

"Horses, my lady? Not to criticise you or anything, but it seems poor logic to me to first abduct a man of Rohan and then put him on a horse", Éomer observed, which made her smile.

"Are you planning to escape then, Sire?" she asked sweetly.

"Oh, not at all. Just pointing that out for your convenience", he answered and shrugged. Lothíriel smiled yet again.

"Then everything is going exactly as I planned", said the Princess calmly. She lifted her eyebrows, "or would you rather me tie you and toss you into a prison cell?"

"I am at your mercy, am I not?" he asked back, trying not to give in to the urge to make a kind of crude joke about her putting him in ropes. "Riding or cells – that is for you to decide, my lady."

"Indeed. And you would do well if you remembered that not all captivities are in ropes. You may be riding but you're still my hostage", she told him, smiling as she spoke.

It was strange to realise just how right she was in saying that, and he fell silent for a while as they started making their way along the beach. While they walked, he tried not to fall into his usual long stride that was normal for him but made men with shorter legs to half-run after him. Soon he could see the two horses waiting for them and he was more than just a little surprised to see his own Firefoot along with a steed he didn't recognise. How Firefoot had allowed someone to take him here, Éomer could not tell. Nonetheless he decided he and his stallion would soon have a long conversation about strange people and what a horse was wont to do when someone else than Éomer himself was trying to ride him.

"How did you arrange all this, if I may ask?" he inquired as he inspected Firefoot; it had been saddled and there was even a bedroll along with spare clothes and food, and his sword Gúthwinë. Well, aside from the unnerving fact that someone had gotten to his things, he was happy to be armed although he didn't think these shores of Dol Amroth were so dangerous. It was a second nature, really.

"Amrothos helped me. His little illness before was just part of the plan – we needed a vessel for escape, after all. If you wonder how he came by your things... well, he can be extremely ingenious when it comes to mischief like this. Father often says that if my brother used his energy on things of more serious nature, Dol Amroth would already rule the known world", Lothíriel said and grinned. "Still, I think he's outdone himself this time. And no wonder, considering how much he enjoyed the mere idea of me kidnapping you."

"Wasn't he worried your father would be angry at him for helping you?" asked the King, but she shrugged.

"Apparently the entertainment outweighs the reprimands", Lothíriel said. "And frankly, I agree with him. Now, if you would turn around. I need to change into something more suitable for riding. You should probably do so as well, unless you plan to ride in those clothes. Amrothos should have packed something for you."

Éomer did so and quickly found a shirt and a coat not unlike the one he usually wore under his armour. His breeches would do for the moment as it would have been very poor behaviour to change them on the front of her. Ever the efficient warrior, he quickly pulled on the more casual clothes and put away those he had worn before. He was happy to find that Amrothos had also packed his woollen Rohirric cloak, which provided more warmth and shelter than any Gondorian garment.

When he was done, Éomer turned to look towards the sea. He could still see Imrahil's yacht; from this distance, it looked like a beacon of golden light. He wondered if they had already noticed that the King of Rohan and the Prince's daughter were missing, but then decided not to dwell on that. There would be enough time for that later... unless the Princess had decided the two of them would elope or become bandits or something like that.

"I noticed your brother did not leave your horse for you to ride. Did he give you his own?" Éomer asked then, which Lothíriel answered with a snigger.

"Oh, it's Erchirion's steed. I imagine he will be very delighted", she answered. "Don't worry for what my brother will think. It's not the first time I've stolen Erchirion's horse."

"And you call me a scoundrel?" Éomer asked, pretending shock. "If you're in the habit of stealing horses, I wonder if I really should bring you to Rohan."

"Lion, if you're going to keep that promise of giving me a Rohirric horse, I don't think I'll be stealing horses any time soon", said the Princess. "You can turn around now."

That he did, and he turned to see her now clothed in leggings, a blue tunic and a dark brown leather jerkin which she was still lacing up.

"Well, that was quick", he commented, trying not to stare at her shapely legs for too long.

"Oh, I already had the leggings under my skirts", Lothíriel answered and threw a cloak on her shoulders. "Let us get going then before the night grows old. I'd like to put some distance between ourselves and the city."

Éomer had been hoping for a chance for another ride with her, but with a proper horse under her. And it was just as pleasant as he had expected. Though her own horse left one for hoping, the Princess was not a bad rider at all – something of which he approved very much. She was able to keep up with Firefoot, and her fine posture in the saddle made Éomer wonder just how many times she had stolen her brother's horse.

The night air was warm for April, and there was magic in riding under the stars and the moon. Sea on their left and land to their right, their horses carried them along the shoreline. A companionable silence had fallen between them and the only noises were that of the sea and laboured breathing of their horses. Every now and then, he would look at her; her dark hair flying in the wind and smiling to herself, she was a vision of dreams. And he did not know what he would do if she said no.

It was around midnight that they made their camp between some large rocks. Once he had seen to the horses, Éomer joined the Princess again. Lothíriel had found some driftwood and had started a fire, and he wasn't even surprised at this point that she would be able to make one. Their meal was meagre – it consisted of some bread and cold ham – but he found he wasn't too hungry anyway. Rather, he was too busy watching her to really think of food.

Apparently he stared at her too intently, for after a while she lifted her gaze and looked at him quizzically.

"Is something amiss with my face, Sire?" Lothíriel asked.

"No. I was just wondering", he said and took another bite of the ham.

"Wondering what?" she wanted to know.

"You. As much as I love you, sometimes I don't understand. One moment you're climbing into my chamber while I'm having a bath or abducting me, and next... you pull so far away, and I'm not sure how to reach you", he said slowly, studying her face as though he could read her mind too.

"I don't know what you mean", Lothíriel muttered, her voice elusive.

"Exactly that. What you're doing now", he said, leaning his chin on the palm of his hand. He narrowed his eyes, "It was some man, wasn't it? Someone hurt you and you're scared of trusting me because of that."

Her eyes flashed and her mouth became a thin line. Éomer wondered if he had gone too far, but then he could not help but think: if they could not talk about this, then perhaps... _no. _He couldn't think like that. Not when it came to her.

"I don't want to speak of it, Sire", she said quickly. "It doesn't matter. What's past should remain past."

"My Princess, I do not ask this because I want to hurt you", he said as gently as he could. "I just want to understand you better... and, if you will, comfort you."

Lothíriel lowered her eyes and her hair fell about her face so that he could not see her face, though he desperately wanted to. He needed to know what was going in her mind, and especially if he had hurt her by starting this conversation.

"Please, don't ask me to speak of it", she said quietly and her voice was heavy with what he thought were tears. It nearly had Éomer panicking. The Princess continued, "Not yet, at least."

"Fine", he answered quietly, and he was not sure what more he should say.

She was very quiet after that and it made him feel more than just little concerned that he had hurt her. However some time after they had agreed to get some rest and he was on the brink of falling asleep, he was suddenly alerted by a small hand tugging at the edge of his cloak that he used as a blanket. Instantly, he let her crawl close to share his warmth. When she was nestled safely in his arms, he knew all was well.

* * *

**A/N: **And here's an update! Hope you like it! The abduction is far from being done, so stay tuned.

Thanks for the comments!


	16. Chapter 16

The next morning after quick breakfast, they turned inland and continued riding towards whatever destination the Princess had in mind. Éomer didn't ask where they were going and anyway, he had a feeling she wouldn't probably even tell him if he asked. To be honest, he didn't really need to know. All that mattered was that he was with her. The day was beautiful, the air was warm, and therew as lightness in his heart that he did not quite want yet let go.

She told him there were some villages and other settlements near the coast, but they did their best to avoid those.

"I'm not sure how soon the word of our disappearance will spread, but I'd rather lay low for now. One has to cast just one look at you and they will know who you are", Lothíriel said, at which he raised his eyebrows.

"It is that obvious?" Éomer asked. She snorted.

"Well, you don't really meet golden-haired giants around these parts, and let me just tell you that the stories about how the Lion of Rohan rode to the aid of Gondor are quite popular", she said, and he laughed. It was actually kind of hilarious to think of all the tales that would sprung from _this _particular incident.

She had been upset last night, but to his relief she seemed to be on a better mood now. Indeed, she acted like none of it had happened. He couldn't tell if that was a good sign or not, but one thing he did know: it was starting to bother him more and more... and there was also that thing about wanting to know the name of the man who had hurt her, so that the King could go and perhaps ride over him several times. However, Éomer knew better than to pester her about it. Lothíriel would tell him when she felt willing, and not any sooner.

Though they did not keep any particular haste, but the Princess still suggested they would ride until the sunset. With a half-smile, she said she had told Amrothos to inform Éothain that she'd return the King before the week had ended. Éomer had assumed a petulant expression and asked what she'd do if he didn't _want _to be returned. A sweet smile had come to her face and she had said: "Oh, I have my ways of persuasion."

He didn't doubt that one bit.

Nevertheless, as happy as he was for this little adventure of theirs, he did feel some concern for how her father would receive it. What if Imrahil thought this had been Éomer's idea and retaliated by disallowing further courtship?

"Oh, don't you worry about my father. I'll take care of him once I see him again. And he will remember that out of the two of us, only I am mad enough to actually go along with a plan like this. You're too damn honourable to actually consider abducting the daughter of your highly-esteemed friend", Lothíriel said with a bright smile, and he snorted.

"Dearest princess, you should not tempt me. I too can be quite insane – _am _insane, in fact, if my sister is to be believed", he told her. It made her laugh and he quietly made note of how much he loved the sound of her laughter.

"Yes, she told me as much when I was visiting her and my cousin", Lothíriel said and winked at him – he hoped Éowyn had not told the princess too many embarrassing stories. She smiled, "I don't mind a bit of madness every now and then."

He answered that with a grin and they rode on in companionable silence for a while. Then he looked at her curiously.

"I was just wondering... aren't you worried for what people will say?" he asked.

"What will they say, then?" she asked back and did not seem too affected.

"Well, you are a young unmarried princess alone with a barbaric king from north. Who knows what unspeakable things I could do to you while we are alone?" he inquired. The idea of that was very exciting actually, but she didn't need to know that. Lothíriel just laughed.

"Are you going to commit unspeakable acts then, Lion?" she sniggered. Then her voice became more serious. "To be honest, I couldn't care less about what people will say. It's none of their business, after all."

"But it could prove problematic later", he pointed out. "In case you ever want to marry. People here in Gondor seem to think it's an important thing that a lady preserves her virtue."

She gave that half-smile again and he could have sworn there was a wicked glint in her eyes.

"I suppose I'll have to become a pirate then", she said, "or marry a Rohirric man, if I want marriage. You know anyone who might want a princess with questionable honour?"

"Oh, I know many", he answered. "Many who will have broken noses and knocked teeth, that is."

"Why so?" Lothíriel inquired.

"Because I intend to fight for you very ardently", he told her. A strange look appeared on her face and she looked away, and for a while they rode on in silence.

That evening, they made a camp in a small grove behind some hills that gave shelter from the wind from the sea. As on the previous night, he tended to the horses while she got the fire going and prepared some supper for them. He liked how easily this cooperation came to them, and he half-seriously even wondered if he could somehow persuade her to prolong this abduction for a bit. Éothain wouldn't mind, would he? Gamling might, though, and there would no doubt be scoldings when the King returned to Edoras.

After supper, she asked him to brush her hair – apparently it was going to be a nightmare if one let it stay untouched for too long – and he eagerly complied. After all, he got to touch her silken hair and while he brushed, she'd hum in low voice. It was nice and peaceful, and possibly Éothain would have laughed so hard that he'd have fallen off his horse had he ridden here now to see his King in the middle of caring for his abductor's hair, but it filled Éomer with a pleasant sense of calm. And there was no telling when he'd get to experience that the next time once he'd return home.

When he was done, she turned so that she could kiss him briefly for thanks; it was hard not to grab her and turn that kiss into a much passionate one. As much as he desired her, it was probably for the better to let her decide the extent of their affections. For one, he did not want to hurt her – not like that _man _had.

As they settled by the fire to sit for a while still before going to sleep, it was Lothíriel's turn to stare at him thoughtfully, and after a while he asked what she was thinking.

"Is it true that you were not meant to be the king?" she asked at length, her voice wary as if she feared this was a touchy subject. Well, it was, but it was Lothíriel asking and perhaps... if he showed he trusted her to speak with her of this, then maybe she would open up to him in turn.

"It is", he confirmed quietly. "My late cousin, Prince Théodred, was supposed to ascend to the throne after my uncle. But he died in a battle, and I was the last living male with royal blood. There was not much choice about it."

He sighed heavily as he remembered the day he had heard his cousin had died... and how it had felt when Théoden had announced him as the heir to the throne. Though he had regarded Théodred as something like an older brother, their duties had often taken them long ways, and so in the later years their once close friendship had become more distant. Still, both of them had shared the concern for the future of the Mark, and Éomer knew he'd have been happy to follow his cousin's lead had the Prince's life been spared. Staring into the fire, he murmured: "I've never been more scared than I was on the day I became the king."

"Scared? You?" Lothíriel sounded amazed.

"I know how it sounds. But I never wanted any of it – I would have been quite content as a Marshal. And being the King... it's not so easy. Everyone looks up to you, expects you to get things done and solve all the problems. And there are _many _of those. Often it's so difficult and exhausting that I just want to jump on Firefoot and ride away somewhere no one can find me. I do my best, but... sometimes I just feel it's not enough", he spoke softly. Silently, she got up on her feet and came to sit beside him. She took his hand in hers and instantly, he intertwined his fingers with hers.

"I never realised it was like that", she said, staring down at their joined hands. Éomer let out a joyless laugh.

"Most of the time, it is. Being a king is less about fabled glory and more about hard work... and hard decisions. Especially after the war and the long dark years of shadow growing... there are so many people in need, so many families who have lost their men in battles. And it's all up to me to fix that. I can't tell you how scary that is", he said. Then he sighed again. "And now I've scared you away, haven't I? Who would want to be a wife to a king of people so troubled?"

"Someone who would like to help. Not only your people, but _you _too", she said gravely.

"Is there such a woman? I often fear I will never find her... and even if I do, I only ever succeed in scaring her away", he confessed, turning to meet her eyes. However, she was still looking down on their hands and so he could not tell what she might have felt at those words.

"If you care for her, I don't think you could ever scare her away", she said softly. He was about to say something, but she spoke first: "Thank you for telling me this, Éomer. I feel that I understand you better now."

"You do?" he asked quietly. Finally, she looked up at him and a smile came to her face.

"At least I think so", she said and lifted his hand so that she could kiss the back of it. She looked at him gently as she spoke again: "I'd tell you not to worry if I did not know that you'll do so anyway. But I feel you are a good king. Better than many a man would be in your stead... my father said once that reluctant ones usually are the best leaders, because they understand those they lead. I have a feeling you will do well."

He leant down to kiss her forehead and briefly rested his cheek against her hair. Then he looked down at her, and said: "I love you, you know."

A small smile came to her face and she gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

"I know, my Lion."

* * *

**A/N: **I should be getting some actual work done but instead I've spent half the day with this and you, my dear readers, are going to get an early update. These two just won't stop chatting away in my head! I know not much happens here, but perhaps there is more going on that you would imagine...

As usual, thanks for reading and reviewing!


	17. Chapter 17

"Is it true, what they say about you Rohirric riders?" she asked the fourth morning of their travel as they were in the middle of a lengthy breakfast. Apparently they had travelled so fast that they could afford some leisure, which he enjoyed very much.

"Is what true?" he asked back and sat up.

"Amrothos said that you don't need a saddle or reins for your horse. That you can control your steed just with your legs and your voice", Lothíriel said. There was an air of contentment about her, something he had not seen before... except perhaps on that night he had taken her for a ride. He rather liked this serene Lothíriel. But then, he liked her no matter her mood.

"Of course it's true. Like I've told you before, we don't take pride in our horsemanship for nothing", he said. "Do you want to see?"

"You show-off", Lothíriel snorted, but couldn't hide a smile. "Well, go ahead. I might as well see if there's trth about what they say about you. We're not in a hurry, after all."

He grinned, leapt up on his feet and called Firefoot with a high-pitched whistle. His stallion sauntered to him obediently and at his order in Rohirric, lowered himself down so that he could mount the animal. Then Firefoot rose up on his feet.

Riding bareback and without reins had been something Éomer had mastered long ago. In fact, it was something all riders learnt to do, though it was hardly something one usually needed to do. Really, it was more of a testimony of man's horsemanship, so the symbolic value was greater than the utility. Of course, it required one taught one's horse well and that there was trust between the steed and the rider. One of the first things a Rohirric warrior learnt was that a bond of trust between a man and his horse could one day save your life.

He rode Firefoot around the camp and had the animal perform some tricks that would have been considered stately even in Rohan, and he felt pleased when he noticed her appreciative expression. In quiet Rohirric, he promised Firefoot a basket of apples for that.

"Very impressive", Lothíriel said once he had slipped down and ushered Firefoot back to where Erchirion's steed was.

"Thank you, my lady", he said and took again his seat across her. It was not by any means uncommon in the Mark for the men do their best and more to impress the ladies, but it had been quite a while since Éomer himself had participated in that. In fact, these days he'd have been more interested in _un_impressing some of the overly eager ladies. Funny how one's sudden change in status from a Marshal to King could drive people mad like that.

"You probably know it well, but you look very good horseback", she said and he couldn't help a smug little smile.

"Why thank you, my lady. That is most kind of you", he said, trying to sound modest. She extended one leg to kick his thigh.

"You oaf", she scolded, "I should know by now not to compliment you. You always make a joke of it."

"I am sorry. I'm just not always sure if you're jesting or not", he quickly apologised. He'd be damned if he upset her.

"Just take the bloody compliment when it's given to you", she told him, avoiding his gaze.

"I will try to do so", he promised. "It is just that... well, you seemed frequently so displeased with me when we first met that I'm still sometimes unsure whether you really welcome my attention or if you just bear it for the sake of friendship between your father and myself."

Lothíriel looked abashed at first, and then a look of embarrassment came to her. She looked away when she spoke: "I'm sorry if I've made you feel so. Truthfully, you did frustrate me at first, but not anymore. Please don't think that I'm just pretending. I like you, and... and the way you are so _real _and genuine..."

She fell silent for a while, staring down on her hands. When she spoke again, her voice was quiet.

"I appreciate it. And I know now that I can trust you. It means a lot to me", she said quietly, and her voice was thick with what he thought were tears. He opened his mouth to speak, but quickly she stood up and wiped a hand across her eyes. "We should get going."

They gathered their things and cleaned up the camp in silence, but once they were on the road again, she lightened up and most of their ride was spent in pleasant, lazy conversations. He told her of Rohan, and of Edoras, and she eagerly listened. Sometimes she'd ask questions about this or that person or event, and in their talks time went by quickly. All the way they had travelled, he had noted they never went too far from the sea, which was on their left, and he had his own ideas of where they were riding. But as he had decided before, he did not ask and let her lead the way.

That night, they made camp again as on the previous days and spent supper in lively conversation about horses and riding, but when they had eaten, this serious look came to her face.

"I suppose I ought to tell you that tomorrow we should meet Éothain and your men, if Amrothos has kept his word and told them where to ride", she said at length. "And likely my father too, because I know he won't be able to resist the temptation of lecturing me the first chance he gets."

"So we are headed for Edhellond?" he asked.

"Yes. You'd have ridden that way anyway, so I decided I'd escort you there... by abducting you, of course", she said and assumed a completely innocent face.

"But that's not all of it, my lady. Is it?" he asked, tilting his head slightly and studying her intently. "You wouldn't have gone through all the trouble just to escort me there, when you could have asked your father to come along as far as Edhellond."

"No. That's not all of it", she allowed softly, her face again turning serious.

"Then why did you truly kidnap me?" he asked.

"Because I wanted to watch you. See how you would be when we were completely alone with no one else around. How you would treat me, and..." she said, but then she hesitated.

"And what?" he pressed on, however.

"If you would take the opportunity and seduce me", Lothíriel said, her voice plain and hard. It surprised him and he leant back as he understood.

"You were testing my character", he said slowly.

"Yes. I'm sorry if that offends you. I know that I can trust you. I understand that now. But I..." she started and again fell silent, and a troubled look came to her face.

"You've been burned in past, haven't you? I was right when I assumed some man has hurt you", Éomer said. He realised he was not offended, not like he might have been if it had been anyone else. But Lothíriel was different. If this was what she needed to feel secure... well, for her he'd do anything. So he told her: "It's fine. I'm not angry."

She let out a small sob and when she looked at him, there were tears in her eyes. Quickly, he got on his feet and made his way to her; then he sat beside her and pulled her close.

"For you, anything", he said softly as she sniffed and desperately tried to get a hold of herself. But his words only made her moan and cry even more, and at first he was worried, until she looked up and he saw she smiled.

"I didn't think I'd ever hear anyone tell me something like that", she stammered. He met her gaze gravely and pulled her closer.

"I'd die for you", he told her, and his voice was plain and declarative as he said that – not at all like he had thought it would be. But it brought about that smile he loved, and Béma, he adored her.

"I'd rather you live for me. _With _me", she said softly. Gently, she placed a hand on his cheek and leant up to kiss him, and he eagerly returned her affection. It went on for long and was just about to turn something more when she pulled back. Her tears had dried and she looked more at peace now, but her expression was still serious.

"Would you like to hear the rest of the story?" she asked. He just nodded quietly as an answer.

Lothíriel sat quiet for a while, her eyes fixed on the camp fire. Then, at last, she started to speak.

"His name is Lachol. He was a nephew to one of my father's greater lords... his uncle had no own children, so Lachol was made the heir when he was very young. But his uncle was not really the father type, and Lachol's own parents died when he was but a child, so he was sent to my father's court to be raised among my brothers – he is about the same age as Erchirion. I, however, never saw him as a brother. When I was a child, I thought him my best friend. And when I came of age... well, you can probably guess what happened. Lachol was my first love", she began, speaking in soft and slow tones. Éomer listened silently and absently ran his fingers through her hair. He could tell this was a painful memory, and he wished to ease her discomfort.

"Lachol seemed to like me as well. At least he never gave any indication that my childish affections bothered him. It all was very amorous of course, complete with silly love letters and other things like that, as you can probably imagine. I was completely infatuated and everything he did just fuelled it more. We made all kinds of promises about how we would get married and live in a castle by the sea. Perhaps all that could even have happened. Lachol at least would one day be a high lord – high enough for my father and my late uncle to allow me to marry him", she continued and settled closer to Éomer. He held her a bit tighter then, still sitting quiet.

"It was three years ago now that his time in Dol Amroth came to an end. Since the old times, Lachol's House had been tasked with protecting our shores from pirates, and it was a tradition of their family for all young men to serve on board for a while. Lachol's uncle was anxious for him to also serve his time, and so he had to leave my father's court. I was scared of course, because the pirates had become bolder and their attacks on our coast more frequent. There was no telling if he'd return alive. But there was no way I could ask him not to go. I could just hope for the best... and his safe return", Lothíriel said. Again she fell silent for a moment. When she spoke again, her voice was more quiet, and he could hear the echoes of old pain in there.

"I was so scared he wouldn't come back. So on one of his last nights in Dol Amroth, I sneaked into his room to see him. As you can probably guess, there was not too much talking... but we did not go to the very end. He'd have wanted, though. He asked me several times, and each time he was more demanding. But I would not say yes, because I was scared a child would be conceived. It wasn't innocent, though... I did let him touch me like a husband would touch a wife, and vice versa. Then he asked again to have me, almost angrily. I might have given in had they not called him then, and I had to hide in the balcony. Apparently village by coast had been attacked and the captain of that ship Lachol was assigned to serve on was going to pursue the pirates as soon as the men could be gathered. So he left, and I stayed in Dol Amroth to wait for his return", she spoke and a shudder went through her. Ever so gently, Éomer kissed her temple, if just to console her. She settled again and continued her tale.

"He did return before half a year had gone by – on a stretcher, and barely alive. Lachol had taken injury in a battle and they brought him to Dol Amroth to recover, as his uncle had better faith in our healers than his own. His wounds were so serious that for a while it looked like he would die, but somehow he fought and survived. I stayed beside him until he was able to leave his sickbed, hoping that maybe the day of our wedding would soon be settled. I was wrong to hope for such thing, though", she sighed quietly.

"After he was healed, Lachol was... different. I have no other word for it. At first I did not really notice it – I was still too infatuated. But soon I begun to realise that he was not really the same man I had loved. Or perhaps he was, but he just did not feel anything for me. Nonetheless, his behaviour towards me had become cooler, more distant... as if I was someone he had only just met. When I confronted him and demanded to know what was wrong with him, he told me to stop pestering him. He was... well, he was cruel, and I won't recite his words here. The next day, he left Dol Amroth and despite all my attempts to contact him, all the letters I sent him, Lachol never answered. Eventually I gave in, though it was not an easy thing to do that. That fall, a word was brought that he had gotten married", Lothíriel said, and though her voice was plain, he knew it was not an easy thing to speak of this out loud. And no wonder, for to trust someone like she had trusted this man and then suffer betrayal would have been a hard thing to handle even if one was not young like she had been. Éomer found himself growling in frustrated anger and he would have liked nothing better than knocking down the man who had broken her heart.

"He never boasted of having carnal knowledge of the Princess of Dol Amroth, not wide and loudly at least. I don't really have any illusions left anymore. The Lachol who came back from battle was not the same man I knew... and I think he'd have made jest of it had he not feared that my brothers would go after him. But he must have spoken something, because people began to talk... and sometimes, when I see them looking at me, I know what they think of me. They don't see someone who was young and didn't know better, but some hussy with no manners or virtue", she finished at last and lowered her gaze, as if waiting for him to criticise her too.

However, he gently lifted and turned her face so that he could meet her eyes, and for a quiet moment he gazed at her, hoping she'd read from his eyes how little he cared for whatever mistakes there was in her past.

"Lothíriel", he began, trying to find the right words – the kind that she'd believe. "Like I told you before, at this point you could reveal you have two heads and I would not care. Obviously you think that I would somehow take insult in your past errors. But I do not. It's not your fault, after all. _You _were betrayed and if anyone should be ashamed, it should be _him._ The only thing I am sorry for is the pain you had to endure because of this... this _man. _And I love you just as I loved you yesterday. Let me tell you this, min sæides: you need only point me to the direction of this Lachol and I will ride to meet him, and I will bring back his hide for you, if you so will."

There was a muffled little sob on her lips, and then she threw her arms about his neck. He pulled her into his lap and she held on to him tight as she cried in relief. Then she kissed him many times, almost to the point of bathing his face. And he pulled her close, and there was so much he wanted to tell her, such need to make her understand he didn't mind... that no mistake of past could make him love her less.

She rested her forehead against his and breathed heavily, cradling his bearded cheeks between her hands. His heart raced fast, and it felt too big for his chest... the need for her was almost painful. Not many things seemed to make sense ever since he had become the king, but this did, it was so _obvious _that he'd love her...

"Éomer", she spoke his name, breathless and urgent.

"I'm here. Lothíriel. _Lothíriel", _he murmured, seeking her lips with his.

"... yes. Yes", she said then, almost too quiet for him to hear.

"Yes?" he asked.

"That is my answer", she said, again looking like she might cry. "To your question, I mean. The Lion will have his Lioness. _Yes. _I'll marry you!_"_

His heart leapt, picking up speed again. And he might have cried, he didn't know, because he was kissing her and she was there, close to him, she'd be his and he'd be hers, and it was so beautiful and perfect and oh Valar, _Lothíriel said yes... _

"I love you. I love you", he told her, probably sounding only half coherent in between his kisses. She answered with equal passion, and Béma, he had never wanted a woman like he now wanted her. As he pulled back slightly and looked at her, he knew she'd let him have her right here and now if he just asked, and the temptation _was _bad.

But he wasn't like the man who had broken her heart. _No. _He'd keep his word, he'd marry her, and only then would he ask for her affections. Only if she was willing.

The Lothíriel he wanted was one that returned his love.

And the words she uttered were as if answered to his thoughts and his wish: "_I love you too."_

* * *

**A/N: **Seems that a small flu and being confined to bed is most stimulating for my muse... So you're treated with another early update! Hope you like it. :)


	18. Chapter 18

It was an emotional night in many aspects – so emotional, in fact, that neither of them really felt like going to sleep any time soon. And there were still things to be settled and cleared out, so they sat side by side, sharing the warmth of his cloak, and talked away into the night. For one, Éomer felt he should apologise for many things he had done.

"You should have said something, the way I treated you... it was horrible of me to be so familiar with you, after what that damned man did. I am very sorry", he said, feeling the intense urge to kick himself. All those times he had gone so close to her... it was a wonder she had not sent one of her brothers after him! Or gone after him _herself. _He no longer even doubted she could do it.

"Oh, don't be. It's fine. You didn't know about Lachol, after all. You never asked for more than I was willing to give, and... you just are different. Like I said, you're _genuine, _there's no pretension in you. You have the face and the eyes of an honest man, I knew that the moment I saw you. _I knew_. Even as my reason cautioned me and screamed that I shouldn't trust you, my heart said otherwise, because with you... it was always _real", _Lothíriel said softly, intertwining her fingers with his.

"I'm glad to hear that. I was already worried that I had done you ill by my enthusiastic approaches", he said, feeling relieved at her words. "What this man did to you... it's why you were reluctant to say yes when I asked you to marry me, isn't it?"

"Yes, but perhaps not for the reason you might think", she said softly. "True, I feared it would turn out like it did with _him, _and I needed time to see if you really meant what you said, or if it was just some spontaneous idea you'd regret later. But even more I was scared of what you would think... and I didn't want to bring you shame."

"Whatever do you mean?" he asked, frowning that she'd think like that. The Princess sighed.

"Everyone always said you were such an honourable man", she said at length, and he could tell it was hard for her to speak of this. "So, when you showed interest in me, and all the things you did that showed you liked me... I was scared of how you would react if I told you. Because how could you want me if you knew that I'm considered someone with questionable honour? It was horrifying to think of that, after you had been so open and unaffected with me. And even if you didn't mind and I said yes... you'd still be the man who wedded the soiled princess."

"So you think that by marrying you, people would disapprove of me too?" he asked. She nodded quietly at that, as if not trusting her voice.

Gently, he lifted her face so that he could see her eyes – and that she could see _his._

"I don't care what people say or think. Really, I don't give a damn. In my own eyes, and in the eyes of my people, I will just be the man who married the woman he loves. That's the important thing, not what some prissy, overly correct prudes think. Who cares what they might say? We'll show them what is important. Oh yes, _we will_. You'll be the most cherished and beloved woman they'll ever see", he told her gently. An incredulous look came to her and she frowned.

"Again I wonder how you're even real. That a man would ride from Rohan, and be nothing less than a king... pay attention to me, _love _me even, and not care for one bit that I was someone else's..." she said quietly, squeezing his hand. At that, he kissed the top of her head.

"We're all human, Lothíriel. We make mistakes", Éomer said calmly. "I have a past of my own, so why should I blame you for yours?"

She let out a shaky breath and hugged him tight for a bit. Then she looked up at him: "Is that just what you think? What will your people say?"

The young king shrugged.

"I doubt they'll even think of it twice. These things are usually treated differently in Rohan anyway", he said, adjusting the cloak around the two of them better. "They will love you, I'm sure of that. You're very lovable, after all."

That seemed to console her, and she settled against his side.

"I hope you're not angry with my father and brothers, though", she said after a moment.

"Why would I be angry with them?" Éomer asked absent-mindedly, feeding some fire to the wood.

"For not telling the truth about my, hmm, reputation", said the Princess, pulling his cloak about herself. "They're just trying to set an example. That no one should be punished because of some childish mistakes. They're my family, after all... so they'd stand behind me in everything."

"And they're right to do so. Don't worry – I'm not angry that they did not say anything. It's something I'd rather hear from you anyway", he said calmly. Then he grinned to himself. "You know, my offer still stands. If you want Lachol flogged, I mean. I'm sure your father wouldn't mind much."

"Oh, you don't know how much I would have wanted to hear _that _back then. But it's fine. I've left that behind", she said softly.

"And here I was hoping I might get to use him as target practice or something", he muttered in mock disappointment. The princess snorted.

"Of course you did, you madcap. I wouldn't worry about him anyway. When it becomes known that we intend to marry... he, or any man for that matter, will probably start to feel very uncomfortable about talking ill - especially when you're around", Lothíriel commented.

"And why is that?" Éomer asked. She sniggered.

"Have you seen yourself, Lion? Don't you know of the stories they tell of you? They say that King of Rohan is almost 8 feet tall and because you're so large, there's no horse big enough to carry you, and so you caught a creature they call griffin in the old stories. You ride it to wars and apparently it breathes fire too. I also hear that you only feed flesh of your enemies to this griffin of yours", she answered, her voice light and amused.

He chortled, not sure how to feel about these stories she spoke of. He could only wonder how many pints it had taken to come up with a tale so ludicrous.

"That is ridiculous. Firefoot eats only orcs, and he breathes fire only on Mondays", he said lightly, which made Lothíriel laugh – a sound he found he rather loved.

"Stories aside, it seems to me that people don't think it such a good idea to get to the bad side of a man who laughs at the face of death. By the way, is it is true that you killed two _mûmakil_ in the Battle of Pelennor Fields?" she asked as she settled her head against his shoulder.

"I merely killed the man riding one oliphaunt... which essentially caused his mount to crash into another beast, and that collision brought down them both", Éomer said. _That _was a story that had grown much too large for his tastes. "But really, if that's what they say of me these days, I think I might stay home when the next war falls on us, or soon people will demand to know where I keep my dragon..."

Lothíriel laughed again and leant up to kiss his cheek. He turned his face so that he could answer that kiss, and a very nice and long moment was spent in warmth of that affection. Once it ended, he looked down at her; dark hair framed her face in tousled curls, time spent in sun had given her a tan, and in her eyes there was a look he had not seen before. She looked happy, content. Oddly enough, he felt faint at knowing it was because of him.

"Éomer", she said, her voice soft and tender. He had noted she did not often say his name, and when she did, it was important. He brought her hand to his lips and gave it a gentle kiss.

"Lothíriel", he answered, cradling her fingers in his own.

"I love you", she said, so quiet that he nearly didn't hear her. There was something almost shy about the way she spoke those words, as if she wasn't quite used to them. Maybe she wasn't.

"I love you too", he answered and gave her hand a squeeze.

"Will you love me tomorrow too?" she asked.

Lord of the Mark smiled.

"Tomorrow, next year, forever."

* * *

The towers of Edhellond rose in the front of them, basking in the glorious sunshine of April. The blue and silver pennant of Dol Amroth was to be seen on the top of one tower; Prince Imrahil was in the city, and doubtlessly very anxious to see again his daughter... and the king she had abducted.

Quietly, Éomer thought whether he should take the blame on himself, but then he thought about it again and realised Lothíriel would not want that. Looking at her, he knew it was something she'd carry proudly, and Rohirrim would love her for it. More than anything, he knew they wanted to see a Queen beside their King who matched him. And there was no other woman in the world who matched him like she did.

From Edhellond, Éomer King of Rohan would ride back to his land and Princess Lothíriel would return to her city by the sea. But he'd go with the knowledge and the happiness that soon, there would be a Queen in the Riddermark again. More importantly, there would finally be someone to share his life with... someone to return to. Someone to fight for and live for and die for. But mostly, to live for, to live _with. _

They briefly stopped on that last hill before the city, and Éomer turned to look at his bride. She returned his gaze and she smiled. Suddenly, a wish to kiss her for one more time came to him and so he rode next to her. Lothíriel seemed to know what he thought and so she leant towards him for a kiss; in the middle of it, he briefly thought of lifting her into his own saddle and carrying her off somewhere no one would find them. After all, he did owe her an abduction. But that would have to wait for some more convenient occasion.

"Ready?" he asked her, and she smiled.

"If you are, my Lion", Lothíriel said.

They exchanged one more smile, and then they raced down the hill and towards the white towers of Edhellond. To himself, King of Rohan thought: _Tomorrow, next year, forever. _

* * *

**A/N: **And here's more flu-inspired things! I actually thought I'd finish the story with this chapter, but finally I decided against it. For one, I've still got some things to say... and I must admit I like this storyline too much to bring it to an end yet. So there's going to be couple of chapters more at least. Probably for the better though, because I'm not really sure I could keep up this insane writing and updating speed for much longer.

As you might have noticed already, there's one reference to the movie trilogy: Éomer does essentially take down two oliphaunts by killing the man who rides one of them. It's still one of my favourite moments! :D

Thousand thanks for all the supportive comments and well-wishes. You guys are the best! :)


	19. Chapter 19

_August 3020, Dol Amroth_

Though she knew she was as ready as she was ever going to be, Lothíriel took one last opportunity to check everything was in place. Whirling about in the front of mirror, she made sure every last fold of her new green gown fell in its place and the eloquent work of braids that was her hair had not come undone. She wasn't usually the one to vacate the front of mirror for long, but this night, she wanted everything to be perfect. It was a special evening, after all, and she wanted to look her best.

The green became her better than she'd have expected; it should be about the same shade she had seen _him _wearing. Still, small hints of her own colours were here and there in the silver embroideries and the tiny swans on her sleeves. She wondered how he'd look when he'd see her... he always seemed so happy to see her, especially now that he had been gone for months.

Only last week, a rider had come from Rohan to announce the arrival of Éomer King in about week's time. Father had instantly started to organise a celebration, and Lothíriel had of course known why that was. The Prince wanted the news of a royal marriage finally announced properly, though the rumour had been circulating ever since the King's visit.

Éomer had ridden back to Dol Amroth yesterday. Originally Lothíriel hadn't expected him to return so soon, but she was happy that he had. The months after his departure had been long; in fact, the time had felt twice as long because of all the waiting. And she knew it was only going to get worse, for the wedding would take place next spring, and that seemed like worlds away.

To be honest, Lothíriel would rather have liked to have whole wedding thing done and settled already. She'd have wanted it that day they had ridden together to Edhellond and she had seen what scandalized faces people had worn when they had thought she didn't see. Of course, they'd have their ideas about what the two of them had been up to during their travel, but with the completely unaffected King of Rohan by her side, it had been easy to ignore the looks. As for her father, he hadn't seem to known whether to be angry or just shake his head in hopeless frustration. At first, he had tried to scold the King for abducting her – Father had actually thought it was _Éomer's _idea – but she had immediately stepped in and informed that she was the one to be blamed. Then she had continued by telling her poor father that if he didn't stop berating her betrothed, she'd just steal him again and this time, she might not come home at all. And then Elphir had stepped in and told their father that this was just her way of saying yes to the King's proposal.

It all had worked out better than she had expected, but watching her Lion go had still been a hard thing to bear. He had made his way into her heart like she wouldn't have believed, and when he was gone, it was like he left behind a vast emptiness and no one else burned brilliantly enough to fill it. In many ways Éomer's absence was like the absence of sun.

_Yes. He _was _the Sun. _

But now he was back and there would be several precious days together before he'd have to return home, and Lothíriel would be damned to think of the long months that lay ahead.

Her thoughts were interrupted then as someone knocked at the door.

"Are you ready, sister? The ball is just about to start!" Amrothos called her.

_The ball. _Tonight, it would finally be made official. Of course, the whole thing was more or less a common knowledge already, at least in Dol Amroth. You can't really abduct a king and not raise attention, after all.

"Calm down, brother. It's just a ball!" she shouted back at her brother, who then opened door and stepped in.

"Really, sister. I think it's _you _who should calm down_._ Stop obsessing about how you look and come already! Father is waiting", he scolded, and she made a face at him.

"It's not your marriage that will be announced tonight, so shut it", she told him and then checked her reflection one last time.

"You look fine, sister", he reassured her, trying not to sound too frustrated.

"Just fine?" Lothíriel asked. Then she looked at her brother worriedly. "What if he changes his mind? What if he-"

"Oh, stop that! You know the man loves you madly, and I don't think he could be persuaded to change his mind about you even if Manwë himself stepped down from his throne and came here to try and talk Éomer out of it", Amrothos said patiently. "Now, is our little panic attack done? We should get going before your husband-to-be thinks someone has stolen you, or worse: _you _have changed your mind about _him."_

It was strange to realise that Amrothos was probably right about that, and Éomer was somewhere being just as nervous as her.

As she followed her brother out, Lothíriel smiled to herself and she finally started to feel calmer.

_I have you now, my king, and I do not think I will ever let you go._

* * *

That moment before her father placed her hand in Éomer's was one of the longest of her life.

Lothíriel could barely hear what Father was speaking, but she made out words like "friendship" and "alliance", which all were probably very important and everything, but she could hardly pay attention to that. Instead, what she was concerned with was standing on the front of her: tall, regal, and watching her with such incredulous happiness that she almost turned around to see what he was looking at. Sometimes, the intensity and the unconstrained straightforwardness of his affection was hard to comprehend. He did not hold back, nor did he spare his emotion. It was something that would take a while to get used to, because in the courts of Gondor, passionate love was not something that often occurred. Perhaps one day, it'd be as easy for her as it was him to show how much she cared.

And finally, when she was starting to think this thing would not move forwards or backwards or even sideways, her father gently picked up her hand and carefully placed it on Éomer's extended palm.

The King's hand was calloused and warm and large under her own, and though his grip was gentle when his fingers closed around hers, she could sense the strength there; she thought to herself she'd have to ask if he could break rocks in his fists. But then that line of thought was disrupted, for she looked up at him again and for a moment she thought he might kiss her right there in the front of her father's court. His dark eyes were full of light and his look could have only been described as adoring, and she decided she wouldn't even have minded it much if he really _had _kissed her.

There was a sound of applause, but the King of Rohan was still watching her, and he brought her hand to his lips. His breath caressed her skin and the look he gave her filled the princess with sudden urge to jump him. Damned man! Did he have any idea of what he did to her?

In that light, it was probably good that family members approached them to wish them well and congratulate them, but Lothíriel did make a mental note of having to ask him to sneak out with her some time later. Some proper kissing was very much needed.

As it seemed that the most, or at least good part of the crowd was of the mind to exchange a word or two with the betrothed pair, there was no really time for private conversation. Éomer could very well be there at her side but at the same time he felt so far away, what with his formal behaviour that was so different from what she knew he could be. Nevertheless, she was happy: at least it was official now, and soon she'd break free from this place where she had felt so lost and out of place sometimes. Perhaps with him she'd find her place in sun.

Those thoughts were abruptly stopped, however, when she spotted a face nearing... a face of someone she had not seen in years, and suddenly her blood felt like freezing.

Well, it wasn't like she had forgotten he existed... and anyway, she had acknowledged more or less that there was a good chance she'd see him sometimes in her father's court. But after he had left Dol Amroth, he had not come back. Rather, she had heard he was solely concentrating on his new wife and his future position as Prince Imrahil's vassal. The threat had always been there, and she had known that some day, she might have to confront him. And now that day had come.

Lachol had gotten older; he was no longer that young man she had once so loved. Indeed, he looked older than his years, as if something had aged him prematurely, and he wasn't so dexterous as she remembered. But he was handsome still and Lothíriel could very well see just why she had been so infatuated with this man. He still had that special something in his eyes that had gotten to her when she had been younger.

By his side stood a woman who could only be his wife. Her long, elaborately braided hair was light brown and her eyes hazel; she was very pretty and had a face of someone who was easily befriended. She looked friendly and kind and her smiles were without pretension. She was obviously pregnant, probably expecting the couple's second child as Lothíriel had heard Lachol already had a daughter.

At the sight of her old sweetheart, the princess almost lost her composure and her voice. Especially at the slow widening of Lachol's smile she wanted to turn and run and never look upon this man again. The pointedness of it was not lost to her, nor was the sarcastic look in his eyes, as if he was enjoying some private joke... which probably was true.

"Princess Lothíriel. It has been too long", Lachol said, his voice the epitome of pleasantry. At the sound of his voice, she remembered how she had missed him, and then loathed him. She wanted to turn and dash away, but she couldn't do that – she couldn't let this man get to her anymore. _She had to let go. _And so Lothíriel held on tighter to Éomer's steady hand and there she found the strength she needed.

"Sire", she said at last when she recovered her voice and cast a look at the King of Rohan, who stood beside her, "allow me to introduce you Lord Lachol and Lady...?"

"Glireth, my lady", said the pregnant woman warmly. She nodded courteously at the King, "My lord. It is a great honour to finally meet you."

"The honour is all mine", said the Lord of the Mark, and at the sound of his voice, Lothíriel glanced at her betrothed again. She glanced, and then she turned to look at him properly, for Éomer who now stood there was the one she had never seen before.

Indeed, it appeared that he had changed completely, as if he was someone else entirely. He was not the gentle, caring man she had grown to love – instead, there beside her stood a _king. _Tall, commanding, and stern, it was as if he were larger than he actually was, and the sheer power of his presence seemed to rule his surroundings. A frown had come to his face and it was the kind of look that made Lothíriel think she'd have been very worried if it had been directed at her. And it was Lachol that he directed that look, staring at the other man unblinkingly.

"My lord, my lady", Lothíriel said at length, not sure what to think or feel, "As I expected, I do not really have to introduce you to the King of Rohan. My future husband."

At that, Lachol's smile froze and it became something like a grimace. She could even have sworn there was something worried about his eyes, as if he at least half-believed that the tall, imposing man on the front of him might attack him. Under Éomer's hard, unrelenting glare, Lachol somehow became smaller... he became just a man instead of a hurtful, ever-present memory that had ruled Lothíriel's regret and guilt and shame.

A slow smile spread on her face and she engaged Lady Glireth in a moderately pleasant conversation; Éomer would every now and then contribute, and when he'd look at the brown-haired woman, his glare would momentarily disappear and make way for a charming smile... but then he'd fall silent again and shoot yet another freezing glare at Lachol, and each time the other man would look a bit more nauseous and anxious. This went on for less than ten minutes, until Lachol's nerve finally gave in and he excused himself and his perplexed wife.

Quietly, Lothíriel looked up at the face of her betrothed. His hand came to rest on her shoulder, and he looked around; it was a long and slow stare that almost seemed like a challenge. _Here I am, __and this is my Queen__. I dare you to face me. _

And though she said nothing, the Princess of Dol Amroth felt something she could only call _peace, _and she marvelled:just with the force of his glare and the power of his presence, her Lion had set her free. And hopefully she'd some day be able to tell him how much it meant to her.

* * *

The first quiet moment, Lothíriel tiptoed and whispered into his ear that she'd retire soon... but that she hoped he'd later join her at the beach. He quietly told her that he would, and she smiled up at him. Her look was serene, even radiant. _His bride, __his future queen__. _Sometimes, it was still hard to understand that.

_That he'd ride south, and find a beautiful and spirited mermaid princess who would welcome his love and return it... _

Éomer was happy to see that for the rest of the evening, Lord Lachol did his best to avoid the two of them. Seeing how what agony had come to her face at the sight of that man, he had known who he was even before she had said his name... and that this Lachol should still make her feel so almost had Éomer punching him right there. Had he been younger and more reckless, he might even have challenged the man, but that would have been poor behaviour here in Imrahil's court. Still, his glares seemed to have done their work, and he was fairly sure this Lachol would be telling no more tales about the Princess of Dol Amroth. Afterwards, Lothíriel looked peaceful again, which at least consoled the young king.

Evening was turning late when his princess retired, pleading to exhaustion. The look that she gave to him implied no weariness, though, and he had to bite his tongue as to not grin at her. He decided it would probably be for the better if he waited a while before he'd sneak out too, so he busied himself by conversing with Amrothos.

Ever the helpful ally of amorous people in need, Amrothos loudly asked the King to join him in the garden... and once there, the prince grinned: _"Go to her, my friend."_

The night of August was warm as the heat of sun still lingered under the midnight moon. As Éomer made his way down towards the beach, he thought of past months: less than half a year ago he would no have guessed what would come to pass. It all seemed like a dream... finding his future from these shores. One day, he'd hopefully be able to tell his Princess what she had given him.

It was obvious that she'd be waiting for him that same place where they had first met each other. She stood there, gazing out to the sea as she waited him. Then, as if sensing his presence, Lothíriel turned to look at him. She had changed into a thin gown and a robe and let her hair down, and she looked beautiful. She smiled at him as he approached her, and then he caught her in his arms and pulled her close.

_Oh, Valar. _The feel of her! Her familiar sweet scent, body pressing against his, and her arms about his neck as she tiptoed to kiss him... her absence often left him restless and feeling like something was missing, but now his mermaid was with him and he briefly thought that had his horse been here now, he'd have grabbed his bride and sped towards north with her. If only he could wed her tonight!

When the kiss ended, she looked up at him with a smile.

"I've missed you, my king", she said softly.

"Likewise, min sæides", he answered, brushing a hand across her cheek. "Are you upset? I was worried you might be, what with that man being there..."

"Oh, it is fine. I didn't expect to see him, I grant you that, but... Lachol is past. I can't mourn or regret when the future stands beside me", she said, and he was happy to see the light in her eyes. She let out a small laugh, "I almost thought you were about to bite his head off or something."

"I was tempted, yes", Éomer allowed and grinned.

She kissed him again and wound her arms about his waist. The kiss was long and passionate, and it left him breathless; when she pulled back, it took a moment for him to regain his composure.

"What was that for?" he asked. The smile on her face became wide. She looked flushed and excited and _happy. _

"For everything. For being _you. _And for your gift", she said, stroking his bearded cheek with the back of her fingers. "I didn't get to thank you for the horse you sent me. She is all I dreamt and more... and my brothers are so jealous! For once, _they _are the ones to ask to borrow _my _horse."

"I seem to recall one very excited and only half-coherent letter", he said lightly. "But you're welcome. I am glad to have made you so happy."

The Princess giggled and then she placed her head on his chest, and he held her close. She groaned: "How are we to wait until next spring? I want you _now."_

"Oh, I know. I'm presently contemplating the pros and cons of abducting you this night and you're not making it any easier to say no to that impulse", he muttered into her hair. "You know, I never really believed in the whole idea of love at first sight. Well, I'm not sure I believe it even now. But the moment I saw you for the first time... I knew."

"Knew what, my Lion?" she asked.

"That you are the one. That it would be you or no one else", he said and lifted her face gently. She smiled up at him.

"I... I suppose I didn't realise it then but now I know it was the same for me", Lothíriel said softly. "At least as soon as I became convinced that you weren't some errant ray of sun. Don't look so confused, dearest. I don't know if you've noticed but you're _golden. _Everything about you is – even your voice."

He wasn't sure how to feel about that, so he lifted his eyebrows, and he asked: "Does that you make you the moon to my sun, then?"

"That, my dearest king, would be a privilege", she told him softly. Then, slowly, her face turned into a smile again and a mischievous sparkle was lit in her eyes.

"You're wearing that look again", he said, wondering what it was she had come up with now.

"What look?" Lothíriel asked, effusively innocent.

"_That _look. The one which means you're up to something – like abductions and sneaking up on people in baths", he said. The princess laughed and her face was not unlike that of a self-satisfied cat.

"Sire, how would you feel about a midnight swim?" she asked.

Éomer grinned.

"What do you think, my dear?"

* * *

**A/N: **A bit of a timeleap this time. I thought about writing several more chapters but at this point I'm thinking the next chapter will be the last one. I wanted to write something of a conclusion to whole Lachol thing and I think it turned out pretty good... at least for Lothíriel. She's finally moved on.

Thanks for reading and for reviewing!


	20. Chapter 20

_July 2, Dol Amroth_

Whether the maidservant thought it odd that the Queen of Rohan would ask for wine, strawberries and chocolate, it did not show on her face when she took the order from her. Even the Queen's appearance did not make the maid's very professional face falter: that Lothíriel Queen's hair was tousled and she was in her robes in the middle of day apparently was not strange at all.

_Maybe she was around before and heard us. _He _wasn't too silent, after all. Then again, nor was I._

Smiling to herself, Lothíriel returned to the bedchamber. It was the same room that had belonged to her before her marriage, as it did not seem to make much sense to change lodgings even though she did not live in Dol Amroth anymore. On the first night of their stay in Dol Amroth, it had certainly been strange to share her old bed with her husband, and especially to realise that the last time she had slept there had been as an unmarried maiden. When she had said that out loud, a wicked glint had appeared in her husband's dark eyes, and very interesting things had followed.

At the door of bedchamber, she stopped, for a vision of dream was laying on her bed and she had to halt and take time to just _look. _

Of course she should have known he'd take the first chance they got to do something like this. Yet when she had retreated in her chambers to go through some of her old things to see if they could be any use to her in Rohan and perhaps prepare for the dinner of later that evening (some high profile nobility had been invited, and with King Elessar, Queen Arwen, and Faramir and Éowyn it was certainly going to be a grand occasion), she had not expected anything. Indeed, when she had heard the knock at her window, she had lifted her eyes in complete surprise and vague sense of disbelief.

She had hurried off to open her window, and there, dangling by the vines, was her husband. The oaf had produced yet another garland of flowers and was grinning like an idiot. Exasperated outcry had been all she had been able to give, and then he had climbed in.

"Oh, why did I ever marry you?!" she had exclaimed and thrown her hands in the air, but then he had caught her and pulled her close. His eyes dark, he had whispered: "Because no one provides you with excitement and wonder like I do."

Well, that was actually true, but she had not said that out loud... and anyway, there had not really been chance for conversation anyway – at least not until much later, once he had made up for startling her.

And now Éomer lay there on their bed, leaning his head on one arm and staring out of window off to distance: a picture of lazy relaxation. The day outside was warm and sunny, and he was covered by nothing but the golden light of afternoon. His hair was spread open about his face, like a lion's mane. The long hours under the sun had given him a tan that made his naked skin glow – something she envied and hoped their children would inherit rather than her tendency to be burned by the summer sun. Lothíriel remembered telling him that he was golden, but that had never been more true than it was now as he lay there in the light of sun of most beautiful July anyone could remember. He was golden, just as the sun pictured in the banners of the Riddermark. Yes, he was the sun of his people, rising new and young and glorious after a long cold night.

The thought came to her almost as if from nowhere: he was beautiful. In a strange, foreign, _bearded_ way, Éomer was more beautiful than anyone she had ever seen – including the elves she had seen. _And he was all hers. _

A smile made its way to her face as she thought of that. Perhaps her husband wasn't beautiful because he of how he looked like... but because of what he made her feel, and what he had done for her. What he still did, every day.

He turned his face to look at her then and he smiled, that particular smile that made his eyes dance with light and warmed the very bottom of her heart.

"What are you standing about, my Seawoman? Are you planning my demise again?" he asked. The Queen snorted.

"Oh yes, I am", she said, but couldn't hold back a smile.

"Might you be willing to tell me what it will be this time?" he asked. Her scoundrel of a husband was giving her that one particular look, not completely unlike a big and very self-satisfied cat.

"You will see", she told him, answering his inviting look with one of her own, "but I can tell you that it will include strawberries and chocolate."

* * *

It was one of the brightest summers Éomer had ever witnessed.

But perhaps he felt that way because of what a prosperous year it had been for the Mark. The harvest was promising to be plentiful, and the foaling season could not have gone better. The news from newly established farms from the Wold were very promising as well, and Marshal Héan, whom Éomer had tasked with protecting that part of his kingdom, had reported only very few orc sightings. It was the first time in a very long time that such words were brought from a wild place like the Wold.

And, on the top of all these good tidings, there was at last a Queen in Rohan and the halls of Meduseld were once again filling with laughter... as was the life of King of the Mark.

When things were going so well in the realm, Éomer had felt they could very well afford a bit of leisure, and as Lothíriel had been talking of visiting her home, the royal entourage had departed for Dol Amroth. Aragorn and Arwen had joined them as well, as had Éowyn and Faramir. What was a gathering of lords of the west felt more like a family meeting to Éomer.

Who would have thought that after all that darkness, life could become so sweet?

The golden, relaxed days in Dol Amroth did come at a convenient time, though. Life at Edoras was still as filled with work as ever, for there were many things to be fixed and to be made right. But ever since his marriage, Éomer had found a new stock of energy in himself, and his mind was brimming with ideas and plans. The Mark had much to be thankful for its new Queen.

The thought of _her _made him smile to himself and he stretched, hoping she'd come back to bed soon. Where was his wife, anyway?

The King of Rohan looked around, and there she was at the doorway, watching him. Dressed in nothing but her robe and a nightgown and her hair a wild tangled mass, she was still a vision.

_Oh, he loved her. _

"Strawberries and chocolate", he repeated her words as he rolled to his side and propped himself up on his elbow. "You and your vicious schemes."

His wife let out a silvery laugh as she dropped down her robe, wandering towards the bed in a tormentingly slow pace. The way she moved was starting to look most tempting... he wondered whether they could just spend the rest of the day in bed and send word to Imrahil that the King and Queen of Rohan would not join the others on this night's supper.

"Vicious? Me?" she asked with mock astonishment, stopping just at arm's reach from the bed.

"Yes, you", he told her, sitting up on the bed. He was starting to feel a bit frustrated now. Sometimes, he was still half-convinced she must have been a mermaid, to constantly tempt him so. "Now come here, wife, or there won't be any strawberries afterwards."

"If my King commands", she said with a smile and wide eyes and took a step towards him.

"He does", Éomer affirmed, and finally, she was next to the bed. He sat up and pulled her in his lap, and she settled there as she lowered her face to kiss him. Seeking the lines of her body through her thin nightgown, he idly thought to himself if he'd ever have enough of her... but his thought was disrupted by her demanding mouth and even more ardent hands.

_Probably not. _

He rolled them around, so that she was under him, and instantly her legs locked about his hips. Her breath came as a hiss and he could feel her tremble. But her eyes revealed it was a sign of something entirely else than being uncomfortable.

"Again, Sire?" she asked, her fingers weaving their way through his hair.

"Again", he confirmed and sought at the hem of her nightgown to pull it up. "And then some more."

"They will think us wanton", she breathed, though he could see her eyes darkening with desire, and he ached to be with her. Sometimes, he wondered just how he had endured those months before their wedding. Had he been asked to be without her like that again, he wasn't so sure he could have done it.

"I don't give a damn what they think", he growled as he pulled her nightgown from way. "People may say what they will, but in the end of the day, I'll still be the man who has you in his bed."

He thrust, and they were one; she gasped and he could feel her nails digging into his back.

"You're quite right", she moaned and her kiss was a bite as it was a caress of lips on his own. _Oh, yes. There would be no royal supper tonight. _

"I usually am", growled the King of Rohan as he pulled back and then pushed again, bringing their hips together once more. She chortled, yet that sound ended as a moan.

"But let me tell you one thing, Sire", she breathed across his cheek.

"And what is that, my Queen?" he asked. It was hard to think straight with her so close, but he pulled back so that he could see her eyes, and the stormy grey of them sparkled.

Lothíriel smiled. That moment, when she lay there under him, trembling and breathing heavily, she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. _And she was all his. _Just like he was hers.

"You, my lord, are the first and only person ever to wear flowers to your hair and still retain your ability to look fierce."

He laughed, and he kissed her; after that, talking became most unnecessary.

It was in that golden afternoon that their son was conceived, and nine months after, Éomer King of Rohan held his son and his heir in his arms; and to himself he thought that the sea had blessed his life when he had met his Lady of the Sea.

* * *

Couple of years back, if someone had asked Lothíriel where she thought she'd end up with her life, she wouldn't have known what to answer. Most likely, she'd have fallen silent and looked down at her feet. Then she'd have shrugged and tried to change the topic.

To herself, she'd have thought she'd probably become like her aunt who had never married. Doting on her brothers' children, never moving forward... until one day, she'd look in the mirror and realise her life had gone by her and she was left asking what it all was for.

She would not have expected her life to go like it did. She had not expected _him. _And if someone had told her that it would be him who would change it all, she wouldn't have believed. For the thing was, Lothíriel would never have thought she'd fall in love with a man like Éomer of Rohan. There were times when she realised that it all had been for chance: if Prince Théodred lived this day, Lothíriel of Dol Amroth might never have met the man she married.

Yet he had come, from the great plains of the Mark to the shores of her home. Éomer was the glorious sun of bright new morning, and when he left, it was with her heart... but it was a gift she gave willingly, for he had given her _his _in turn.

_He had set her free._

* * *

Of course it was easy to think like that in retrospect, but somehow Éomer felt he had always known it would have to be someone like her.

During the years of his youth, he had his share of romances and dalliances, but his heart never took root anywhere. Perhaps that was because he was so busy with his duties as a Marshal... in all that uncertainty, he was not able to find a place to rest his heart. Or maybe it was just because _she _had not come yet.

Since his parents had died, Éomer never really felt like _belonging. _Suddenly, the town of his birth had seemed alien, and in Edoras he had felt like an outsider too. And though the years had gone by, he had not found anything that would have made him feel like _home. _Oh, it did not mean that he had no love for his land. Rather, Éomer had thought that while he might be homeless, he was not without base. _Rohan _was where his roots were located. The Mark was what would remain after him, and it was that he was in love with.

But then he rode to the fair city of Dol Amroth, and there at the seaside he met the woman he had taken for a mermaid... and the day Éomer King of Rohan wed Princess Lothíriel, he felt belonging. When she walked the halls of Meduseld, he knew he had found his place.

_She had given him home. _

**_THE END._**

* * *

**A/N: **It has been a wonderful ride with this one, but I fear I must end this story here. Everything is now more or less settled and I do not feel I can continue this any longer. Nevertheless, I've enjoyed writing this story, and I hope you have enjoyed it as well. It has certainly been very fun and in many ways this piece has given much-needed balance and contrast to "Heart's Desire". I must confess, a part of me would have wanted to continue this story, but I also knew I did not really have it in me to continue it any longer that it already was. _  
_

Anyway, thousand hanks for all who took time to read and comment on this story of mine! Hopefully we'll spend many more pleasant moments with Éomer and Lothíriel!


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